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LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  Or  "'  TORNIA 
RIVERSIDE 


THE  PLUNDERER 


He  leaned  over  her  saddle,  to  where,  as  before  something  sacred,  he 
stood  with  parted  lips,  and  upturned  fate,  bareheaded,  in  adoration. 

— The  Plunderer 


The  Plunderer 


By  ROY  NORTON 

l\\ 


A.  L.  BURT  COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS  NEW  YORK 


Copyright,   1912,  by 
W.  J.   WATT  &  COMPANY 


WITH  ALL  THE  AFFECTION    THAT  ONE 

GIVES  TO   A  PARTNER   WITH  WHOM 

HE   HAS   TRAILED,    AND   MINED,    AND    ADVENTURED 

FOR  MANY   YEARS,   AND  NEVER  FOUND  WANTING 

WHEN   BACKS  WERE  AGAINST  THE   WALL 


CONTENTS 


I.  BULLY  PRESBY I 

II.  THE  CROIX  D'OR 22 

III.  AN  UGLY  WATCHMAN 36 

IV.  THE  BLACK  DEATH  51 

V.  THE  AGED  ENGINEER 71 

VI.  MY  LADY  OF  THE  HORSE          ....        97 

VII.  THE  WOMAN  UNAFRAID 114 

VIII.  THE  INCONSISTENT  BULLY        ....       129 

IX.  WHERE  A  GIRL  ADVISES> 151 

X.  TROUBLE  STALKS  ABROAD        ....       167 

XL  BILL'S  VALIANT  FIGHT 182 

XII.  A  DISASTROUS  BLOW 195 

XIII.  THE  DYNAMITER 209 

XIV.  "THOUGH  LOVE  SAY  NAY"       ....       226 
XV.  "MR.  SLOAN  SPEAKS" 241 

XVI.  BENEFITS  RETURNED         .....       259 

XVII.  WHEN  REASON  SWINGS 27? 

XVIII.  THE  BULLY  MEETS  His  MASTER    ...      289 
XIX.  THE  QUEST  SUPREME 304 


THE  PLUNDERER 

CHAPTER    I 

BULLY     PRESBY 

PLAINLY  the  rambling  log  structure  was  a 
road  house  and  the  stopping  place  for  a 
mountain  stage.  It  had  the  watering 
trough  in  front,  the  bundle  of  iron  pails  cluttered 
around  the  rusted  iron  pump,  and  the  trampled 
muddy  hollow  created  by  many  tired  hoofs  strik- 
ing vigorously  to  drive  away  the  flies.  It  was  in  a 
tiny  flat  beside  the  road,  and  mountains  were 
everywhere;  hard-cut,  relentless  giants,  whose 
stern  faces  portrayed  a  perpetual  constancy.  At 
the  trough  two  burros,  with  their  packs  deftly 
lashed,  thrust  soft  gray  muzzles  deep  into  the 
water,  and  held  rigid  their  long  gray  ears,  casting 
now  and  then  a  wise  look  at  the  young  man  in 
worn  mining  clothes  who  stood  patiently  beside 
them. 


io  THE  PLUNDERER 

Another  man,  almost  a  giant  in  size,  but  with 
a  litheness  of  movement  that  told  of  marvelous 
physical  strength,  emerged  from  the  door  of  the 
road  house,  and  the  babel  of  sound  that  had  been 
stilled  when  he  entered,  but  a  few  minutes  before, 
rose  again.  He  crossed  to  the  well,  and  smiled 
from  half-humorous  eyes  at  the  younger  man 
standing  beside  the  animals,  and  said:  "  Bumped 
into  a  hornet's  nest.  Butted  into  an  indignation 
meetin'.  A  Blackfoot  war  powwow  when  the 
trader  had  furnished  free  booze  would  have  been 
a  peace  party  put  up  against  it." 

The  younger  man,  who  had  turned  to  pump 
more  water,  following  the  polite  mountain  cus- 
tom of  replenishing  for  what  you  have  used, 
stopped  with  a  hand  on  the  handle,  and  lookecl  at 
him  inquiringly. 

"  It  seems  it's  a  bunch  of  fellers  that's  been 
workin'  some  placer  ground  off  back  here  some- 
wheres " — and  he  waved  a  tanned  hand  in- 
definitely in  a  wide  arc — "  and  some  man  got  the 
double  hitch  on  'em  with  the  law,  provin'  that 
the  ground  was  his'n,  and  the  sheriff  run  'em  off ! 
Now  they're  sore.  But  it  seems  they  cain't  help 
'emselves,  so  they're  movin'  over  to  some  other 
place  across  the  divide." 

"  But  what  has  that  to  do  with  us?  " 


BULLY  PRESET  n 

"  Nothin',  except  that  it  took  me  five  minutes 
to  get  the  barkeep'  to  tell  me  about  the  road.  He 
says  we've  come  all  right  this  far,  and  this  is  the 
place  where  we  hit  the  trail  over  the  hills.  Says 
we  save  a  day  and  a  half,  with  pack  burros,  by 
takin'  the  cut-off.  Says  it's  seven  or  eight  hours 
good  ridin'  by  the  road  if  we  were  on  horses 
and  in  a  hurry." 

He  paused  and  scanned  the  hills  with  an 
observant  eye,  while  his  companion  resumed  the 
pumping  process.  The  trough  again  filled,  the 
latter  walked  around  the  pails  and  joined  him. 

"Well,  where  does  this  trail  start  in?"  he 
asked. 

"  He's  goin'  to  show  us  as  soon  as  he  can  get 
a  minute's  rest  from  that  bunch  in  there.  Said 
we'd  have  to  be  shown.  Said  unless  he  could  get 
away  long  enough  we'd  have  to  wait  till  some- 
body he  named  came  in,  and  he'd  head  us  into 
it." 

They  led  the  burros  across  the  road  and  into 
the  shadow  of  a  cliff  where  the  morning  sun, 
searching  and  fervid,  did  not  reach,  and  threw 
themselves  to  the  ground,  resting  their  backs 
against  the  foot  wall,  and  trying  patiently  to 
await  the  appearance  of  their  guides.  The 
steady,  hurried  clink  of  glass  and  bottle  on  bar, 


12  THE  PLUNDERER 

the  ribald  shouts  and  threats  of  the  crowd  that 
filled  the  road  house,  the  occasional  burst  of  a 
maudlin  song,  all  told  the  condition  of  the  ejected 
placer  men  who  had  stopped  here  on  their  jour- 
ney. 

"  I  don't  know  nothin'  about  the  case,  of 
course,"  drawled  the  big  man  lazily,  "  and  it's 
none  of  my  funeral;  but  it  does  seem  as  if  this 
feller  they  call  '  Bully '  is  quite  some  for  havin' 
him  own  way." 

He  laughed  softly  as  if  remembering  scraps, of 
conversation  he  had  segregated  from  the  mur- 
mur inside,  and  rolled  his  long  body  over  until 
he  rested  on  his  belly  with  the  upper  part  of  his 
torso  raised  on  his  elbows. 

"  It  appears  that  the  courts  down  at  the  county 
seat  gave  a  decision  in  his  favor,  and  that  he  lost 
about  as  much  time  gettin'  action  as  a  hornet 
does  when  he's  come  to  a  conclusion.  He  just 
shows  up  with  the  sheriff,  and  about  twenty 
deputies,  good  and  true,  and  says :  '  Hike ! 
The  courts  say  it's  mine.  These  is  the  sheriffs. 
Off  you  go,  and  don't  waste  no  time  doin'  it, 
either!  '  And  so  they  hikes  and  have  got  this 
far,  where  they  lay  over  for  the  night  to  comfort 
their  insides  with  somethin'  that  smelled  like  a 
cross  between  nitric  acid,  a  corn  farm,  and  sump 


BULLY  PRESBY  13 

water.  And  it  don't  seem  to  cheer  'em  up  much, 
either,  because  their  talk's  right  ugly." 

"  But  I  thought  you  said  they  were  heading 
for  some  other  ground?  " 

"  So  they  are,  but  they're  takin'  their  time  on 
the  road.  I  used  to  be  that  way  till  the  day 
Arizona  Bill  plugged  me  because  I  was  slow,  all 
through  havin'  stopped  at  a  place  too  long. 
Then,  says  I,  when  I  woke  up  a  month  later  in 
the  Widder  Haskins'  back  room :  *  Bill,  this 
comes  from  corn  and  rye.  Never  have  nothin' 
to  do  with  a  farmer,  or  anything  that  comes  from 
a  farmer,  after  this;  or  some  day,  when  your 
hand  ain't  quick  enough,  and  things  look  kind  of 
hazy,  some  quarrelsome  man's  goin'  to  shoot  first 
and  you'll  cash  in.'  And  from  that  day  to  this, 
when  I  want  to  go  on  a  bust,  I  drink  a  gallon  of 
soda  pop  to  have  a  rip-roarin'  time." 

A  man  lurched  out  of  the  door  of  the  road 
house  as  if  striving  to  find  clean  air,  and  stood 
leaning  against  one  of  the  pole  posts  supporting 
a  pole  porch.  Another  one  joined  him,  coarsely 
accusing  him  of  being  a  "  quitter "  because  he 
had  left  his  drink  on  the  bar.  They  were  stub- 
bornly passing  words  when,  from  down  the  road, 
there  came  the  gritting  of  wheels  over  the  pul- 
verized stone,  and  the  clacking  of  horses'  hoofs, 


i4  THE  PLUNDERER 

slow  moving,  as  if  being  rested  by  a  cautious 
driver  along  the  ascent. 

The  man  by  the  post  suddenly  frowned  in  the 
direction  of  the  sound,  and  then  whirled  back  to 
the  open  door. 

"  It's  Bully!  "  he  bellowed  so  loudly  that  his 
words  were  plainly  audible  to  the  partners  lying 
in  the  shadow.  "  Bully's  a-comin'  up  the  road 
right  now !  Let's  get  him !  " 

There  was  a  fierce,  bawling  chorus  of  shouts 
that  outdid  anything  preceding,  and  the  door 
seemed  to  vomit  men  in  all  stages  of  intoxication, 
who  came  heavily  out  with  their  boots  stamping 
across  the  boards  of  the  porch.  They  cursed, 
imprecated,  shook  their  fists,  and  threatened,  as 
they  surged  into  the  road  and  looked  down  it 
toward  the  approaching  driver.  The  men  in  the 
shade  got  quickly  to  their  feet,  interested  specta- 
tors, and  the  burros  awoke  from  their  drowsy 
somnolence,  and  turned  inquiring,  soft  eyes  on 
their  owners. 

Calmly  driven  up  toward  the  mob  in  the  road 
came  a  mountain  buckboard  drawn  by  two  sweat- 
ing horses.  In  the  seat  was  a  man  who  drove 
as  if  the  reins  were  completely  in  control.  He 
appeared  to  be  stockily  built,  and  his  shoulders — 
broad,  heavy,  and  high — had,  even  in  that  pos- 


BULLY  PRESET  15 

ture,  the  unmistakable  stamp  of  one  who  is 
accustomed  to  stooping  his  way  through  drifts 
and  tunnels.  He  wore  a  black  slouch  hat,  which 
had  been  shaped  by  habitual  handling  to  shade 
his  eyes.  His  hair  was  white;  his  neck  short  and 
thick,  with  a  suggestion  of  bull-like  power  and 
force.  His  face,  as  he  approached  to  closer 
range,  showed  firm  and  masterful.  His  nose  was 
dominant — the  nose  of  a  conqueror  who  over- 
rides all  obstacles.  He  came  steadily  forward, 
without  in  the  least  changing  his  attitude,  or  be- 
traying anxiety,  or  haste.  The  men  in  the  road 
waited,  squarely  across  his  path,  and  their  hoarse 
fulminations  had  died  away  to  a  far  more  ter- 
rifying silence;  yet  he  did  not  seem  to  heed  them 
as  his  horses  advanced. 

"  Gad!  Doesn't  he  know  who  they  are?"  the 
bigger  man  by  the  rock  mumbled  to  his  partner. 

"  If  he  doesn't  he  has  a  supreme  nerve,"  the 
younger  man  replied.  "  They  look  to  me  as  if 
they  mean  trouble.  They're  in  a  pretty  nasty 
temper — what  with  all  the  poison  they've  poured 
in,  and  all  the  injustice  they  believe  they  have 
met.  Wonder  who's  right?" 

A  shout  from  the  crowd  in  the  roadway  in- 
terrupted any  further  speculation.  The  man  who 
had  first  appeared  on  the  road-house  porch 


1 6  THE  PLUNDERER 

threw  up  his  hand,   and  roared,   "Here  he  is! 
We've  got  him !    It's  the  Bully!" 

The  shout  was  taken  up  by  others  until  a  min- 
iature forest  of  raised  fists  shook  themselves 
threateningly  at  the  man  in  the  buckboard  who 
was  now  within  a  few  feet  of  them. 

"Get  a  rope,  somebody!  Hang  him!"  yelled 
an  excited  voice. 

"  Yes,  that's  the  goods,"  screamed  another, 
heard  above  the  turmoil.  "  Up  with  the  Bully!" 

Two  men  sprang  forward,  and  caught  the 
horses  by  their  bits,  and  brought  them  to  an  ex- 
cited, nervous  stop,  and  the  others  began  to  sur- 
round the  wagon.  The  man  in  the  seat  made  no 
movement,  but  sat  there  with  a  hard  smile  on  his 
firm  lips.  The  partners  stepped  to  the  top  of  a 
convenient  rock,  where  they  could  overlook  the 
meeting,  and  watched,  perturbed. 

"  I  don't  know  about  this,"  the  elder  said 
doubtfully.  "  Looks  to  me  like  there's  too  many 
against  one,  and  I  ain't  sure  whether  he  deserves 
hangin'.  What  do  you  think?  " 

"  Let's  wait  and  see.  Then,  if  they  get  too 
ugly,  we'll  give  them  a  talk  and  try  to  find  out," 
the  younger  man  answered. 

Even  as  he  spoke,  a  man  came  running  from 
the  door  of  the  road  house  with  a  coil  in  his  hand, 


BULLY  PRESET  17 

and  began  to  assert  drunkenly:  "Here  it  isl 
I've  got  it!  A  rope!  " 

The  partners  were  preparing  to  jump  forward 
and  protest,  when  a  most  astonishing  change  took 
place.  The  man  in  the  wagon  suddenly  stood  up, 
stretched  his  hand  commandingly  to  the  men 
holding  the  horses'  heads,  and  ordered:  "Let 
go  of  my  horses  there,  you  drunken  idiots!  Let 
go  of  them,  I  say,  or  I'll  come  down  there  and 
make  you!  Understand?  " 

The  men  at  the  horses'  heads  wavered  under 
that  harsh,  firm  command,  but  did  not  release 
their  hold.  Without  any  further  pause,  the  man 
jumped  from  his  buckboard  squarely  into  the 
road,  struck  the  man  holding  the  rope  a  sweep- 
ing side  blow  that  toppled  him  over  like  a  sprawl- 
ing dummy,  jerked  the  coil  from  his  hands,  and 
tore  toward  his  horses'  heads.  As  if  each  feared 
to  bar  his  advance,  the  men  of  the  mob  made 
way  for  him,  taken  by  surprise.  He  brought  the 
coil  of  rope  with  a  stinging,  whistling  impact 
into  the  face  of  the  nearest  man,  who,  blinded, 
threw  his  hands  upward  across  his  eyes  and 
reeled  back.  The  man  at  the  other  horse's  head 
suddenly  turned  and  dove  put  of  reach,  but  the 
whistling  coils  again  fell,  lashing  him  across  his 
head  and  shoulders. 


1 8  THE  PLUNDERER 

Without  any  appearance  of  haste,  and  as  if 
scornful  of  the  mob  that  had  so  recently  been 
threatening  to  hang  him,  the  man  walked  back 
to  his  buckboard,  climbed  in,  and  stood  there  on 
his  feet  with  the  reins  in  one  hand,  and  the  rope 
in  the  other.  "  You  get  away  from  in  front  of 
me  there,"  he  said,  in  his  harsh,  incisive  voice; 
"  I'm  tired  of  child's  play.  If  you  don't  let  me 
alone,  I'll  kill  a  few  of  you.  Now,  clear  out!  " 

The  men  around  him  were  already  backing 
farther  away,  and  at  this  threat  they  opened  the 
road  in  such  haste  that  one  or  two  of  them 
nearly  ran  over  others. 

"  Say,"  admiringly  commented  the  big 
observer  on  the  rock,  "  we'd  play  hob  helpin' 
him  out.  He  don't  need  help,  that  feller  don't. 
If  I  ever  saw  a  man  that  could  take  care  of  him- 
self  " 

"He  certainly  is  the  one!"  his  companion 
finished  the  sentence. 

14  Who  does  this  rope  belong  to?  "  demanded 
the  hard-faced  victor  in  the  buckboard,  looking 
around  him. 

No  one  appeared  eager  to  claim  proprietor- 
ship. He  gave  a  loud,  contemptuous  snort,  and 
threw  the  rope  far  over  toward  the  road  house. 

"  Keep  it!  "  he  called,  in  his  cold,  unemotional 


BULLY  PRESET  19 

voice.  "  Some  of  you  might  want  to  cheat  the 
sheriff  by  hanging  yourselves.  After  this,  any  or 
all  of  you  had  better  keep  away  from  me.  I 
might  lose  my  temper." 

He  sat  down  in  the  seat  with  a  deliberate  effort 
to  show  his  scorn,  picked  the  reins  up  more  firmly, 
glanced  around  at  the  rear  of  his  buckboard  to 
see  that  his  parcels  were  safe,  ignored  the  cowed 
men,  and  without  ever  looking  at  them  started 
his  horses  forward.  As  they  began  a  steady  trot 
and  passed  the  partners,  he  swept  over  them  one 
keen,  searching  look,  as  if  wondering  whether 
they  had  been  of  the  mob,  turned  back  to  observe 
their  loaded  burros,  apparently  decided  they  had 
taken  no  part  in  the  affair,  and  bestowed  on  them 
a  faint,  dry  smile  as  he  settled  himself  into  his 
seat.  At  the  bend  of  the  road  he  had  not  deigned 
another  look  on  the  men  who  had  been  ravening 
to  lynch  him.  He  drove  away  as  carelessly  as  if 
he  alone  were  the  only  human  being  within  miles, 
and  the  partners  gave  a  gasp  of  enjoyment. 

"  Good  Lord!  What  a  man!  "  exclaimed  the 
elder,  and  his  companion  answered  in  an  equally 
admiring  tone:  "  Isn't  he,  though!  Just  look  at 
these  desperadoes,  will  you !  " 

With  shuffling  feet  some  of  them  were  turning 
back  toward  the  inviting  door  in  which  the  bar- 


20  THE  PLUNDERER 

tender  stood  with  his  dirty  apron  knotted  into  a 
string  before  him.  Some  of  the  more  voluble 
were  accusing  the  others  of  not  having  supported 
them,  and  loudly  expounding  the  method  of 
attack  that  would  have  been  successful.  The 
man  with  red  welts  across  his  face  was  swearing 
that  if  he  ever  got  a  chance  he  would  "  put  a 
rifle  ball  through  Bully."  The  young  man  by 
the  rock  grinned  and  said :  "  That's  just  about 
as  close  as  he  would  ever  dare  come  to  that  fel- 
low. Shoot  him  through  the  back  at  a  half-mile 
range !  " 

The  bartender  suddenly  appeared  to  remem- 
ber the  travelers,  and  ran  across  the  road. 

"  I'm  sorry,  gents,"  he  said,  "  that  I  can't  do 
more  to  show  you  the  way,  but  you  see  how  it  is. 
Go  up  there  to  that  big  rock  that  looks  like  a 
bear's  head,  then  angle  off  south-east,  and  you'll 
find  a  trail.  When  you  come  to  any  crossin's, 
don't  take  'em,  but  keep  straight  on,  and  bimeby, 
about  to-morrer,  if  you  don't  camp  too  long  to- 
night, you'll  see  a  peak — high  it  is — with  a 
yellow  mark  on  it,  like  a  cross.  Can't  miss  it. 
Right  under  it's  the  Croix  Mine.  You  leave  the 
trail  to  cross  a  draw,  look  down,  and  there  you 
are.  So  long!  " 

He  turned  and  ran  back  across  the  road  in 


BULLY  PRESBY  21 

response  to  brawling  shouts  from  the  men  whose 
thirst  seemed  to  have  been  renewed  by  their 
encounter  with  the  masterful  man  they  called 
"  Bully,"  and  the  partners,  glad  to  escape  from 
such  a  place,  headed  their  animals  upward  into 
the  hills. 


CHAPTER  II 

THE     CROIX    D'OR 

IT  was  the  day  after  the  halt  at  the  road  house. 
Half-obliterated  by  the  debris  of  snowslide 
and  melting  torrents,  the  trail  was  hard  to 
follow.  In  some  places  the  pack  burros  scram- 
bled for  a  footing  or  skated  awkwardly  with  tiny 
hoofs  desperately  set  to  check  their  descent,  to 
be  steadied  and  encouraged  by  the  booming  voice, 
deep  as  a  bell,  of  the  man  nearest  them.  Some- 
times in  dangerous  spots  where  shale  slides 
threatened  to  prove  unstable,  his  lean,  grim  face 
and  blue-gray  eyes  appeared  apprehensive,  and 
he  braced  his  great  shoulders  against  one  of  the 
bulging  packs  to  assist  a  sweating,  straining  ani- 
mal. After  one  of  these  perilous  tracts  he 
stopped  beside  the  burros,  pushed  the  stained 
white  Stetson  to  the  back  of  his  head,  exposing  a 
white  forehead  which  had  been  protected  from 
the  sun,  and  ran  the  sleeve  of  his  blue-flannel 


22 


THE  CROIX  D'OR  23 

shirt  across  his  face  from  brow  to  chin  to  wipe 
away  the  moisture. 

"  Hell's  got  no  worse  roads  than  this !  "  he 
exclaimed.  "  Next  time  anybody  talks  me  into 
takin'  a  cut-off  over  a  spring  trail  to  save  a  day 
and  a  half's  time,  him  and  me'll  have  an  argu- 
ment! " 

Ahead,  and  at  the  moment  inspecting  a  knot 
in  a  diamond  hitch,  the  other  man  grinned,  then 
straightened  up,  and,  shading  his  eyes  from  the 
sun  with  his  hat,  looked  off  into  the  distance.  He 
was  younger  than  his  partner,  whose  hair  was 
grizzled  to  a  badger  gray,  but  no  less  determined 
and  self-reliant  in  appearance.  He  did  not  look 
his  thirty  years,  while  the  other  man  looked  more 
than  his  forty-eight. 

"  Well,  Bill,"  he  said  slowly,  "  it  seems  to  me 
if  we  can  get  through  at  all  we've  saved  a  day 
and  a  half.  By  the  way,  come  up  here." 

The  grizzled  prospector  walked  up  until  he 
stood  abreast,  and  from  the  little  rise  stared 
ahead. 

"Isn't  that  it?"  asked  the  younger  man. 
"Over  there — through  the  gap;  just  down  be- 
low that  spike  with  a  snow  cap."  He  stretched 
out  a  long,  muscular  arm,  and  his  companion 
edged  up  to  it  and  sighted  along  its  length  and 


24  THE  PLUNDERER 

over  the  index  finger  as  if  it  were  the  barrel  of 
a  rifle,  and  stared,  scowling,  at  the  distant  maze 
of  mountain  and  sky  that  seemed  upended  from 
the  green  of  the  forests  below. 

"Say,  I  believe  you're  right,  Dick!"  he  ex- 
claimed. "  I  believe  you  are.  Let's  hustle  along 
to  the  top  of  this  divide,  and  then  we'll  know  for 
sure." 

They  resumed  their  progress,  to  halt  at  the  top, 
where  there  was  abruptly  opened  below  them  a 
far-flung  panorama  of  white  and  gray  and  pur- 
ple, stretched  out  in  prodigality  from  sky  line  to 
sky  line. 

"  Well,  there  she  is,  Dick,"  asserted  the  elder 
man.  "  That  yellow,  cross-shaped  mark  up 
there  on  the  side  of  the  peak.  I  kept  tellin'  you 
to  keep  patient  and  we'd  get  there  after  a  while." 

His  partner  did  not  reply  to  the  inconsistency 
of  this  argument,  but  stood  looking  at  the  land- 
mark as  if  dreaming  of  all  it  represented. 

"  That  is  it,  undoubtedly,"  he  said,  as  if  to 
himself.  "  The  Croix  d'Or.  I  suppose  that's 
why  the  old  Frenchman  who  located  the  mine 
in  the  first  place  gave  it  that  name — the  Cross 
of  Gold!" 

"  Humph !  It  looks  to  me,  from  what  I've 
heard  of  it,"  growled  the  older  prospector,  "  that 


THE  CROIX  D'OR  25 

the  Double  Cross  would  have  been  a  heap  more 
fittin'  name  for  it.  It's  busted  everybody  that 
ever  had  it." 

The  younger  man  laughed  softly  and  re- 
monstrated: "Now,  what's  the  use  in  saying 
that?  It  wasn't  the  Croix  d'Or  that  broke  my 
father " 

"  But  his  half  in  it  was  all  he  had  left  when 
he  died!" 

"  That  is  true,  and  it  is  true  that  he  sunk  more 
than  a  hundred  thousand  in  it;  but  it  was  the 
stock-market  that  got  him.  Besides,  how  about 
Sloan,  my  father's  old-time  partner?  He's  not 
broke,  by  a  long  shot !  " 

"  No,"  came  the  grumbling  response,  "  he's 
not  busted,  just  because  he  had  sense  enough  to 
lay  his  hand  down  when  he'd  gone  the  limit." 

"  Lay  his  hand  down?  Say,  Bill,  you're  a 
little  twisted,  aren't  you?  Better  go  back  over 
the  last  month  or  two  and  think  it  over.  We, 
being  partners,  are  working  up  in  the  Coeur 
d'Alenes.  Our  prospect  pinches  out.  We've 
got  just  seven  hundred  left  between  us  on  the  day 
we  bring  the  drills  and  hammers  back,  throw 
them  in  the  corner  of  the  cabin,  and  say  '  We're 
on  a  dead  one.  What  next?  '  Then  we  get  the 
letter  saying  that  my  father,  whom  I  haven't 


26  THE  PLUNDERER 

seen  in  ten  years,  nor  heard  much  of,  owing  to 
certain  things,  is  dead,  and  that  all  he  left  was 
his  half  of  the  Croix  d'Or.  The  letter  comes 
from  whom?  Sloan!  And  it  says  that  although 
he  and  my  father,  owing  to  father's  abominable 
temper,  had  not  been  intimate  for  a  year  or  two, 
he  still  respected  his  memory,  and  wanted  to  be- 
friend his  son.  Didn't  he?  Then  he  said  that 
he  had  enough  belief  left  in  the  Croix  d'Or  to 
back  it  for  a  hundred  thousand  more,  if  I,  being 
a  practical  miner,  thought  well  of  it.  Do  you 
call  that  laying  down  a  hand?  'Humph!  " 

The  elder  man  finished  rolling  a  cigarette,  and 
then  looked  at  him  with  twinkling,  whimsical 
eyes,  as  if  continuing  the  argument  merely  for 
the  sake  of  debate. 

"  Well,  if  he  thinks  it's  such  a  good  thing, 
why  didn't  he  offer  to  buy  you  out?  Why  didn't 
they  work  her  sooner?  She's  been  idle,  and 
water-soaked,  for  three  years,  ain't  she?  As 
sure  as  your  name's  Dick  Townsend,  and  mine's 
Bill  Mathews,  that  old  feller  back  East  don't 
think  you're  goin'  to  say  it's  all  right.  He  knows 
all  about  you!  He  knows  you  don't  stand  for 
no  lies  or  crooked  work,  and  are  a  fool  for  prin- 
ciple, like  a  bee  that  goes  and  sticks  his  stinger 


THE  CROIX  D'OR  27 

into  somethin'  even  though  he  knows  he's  gouV 
to  kill  himself  by  doin'  it." 

"Bosh!" 

"  And  how  do  you  know  he  ain't  figurin'  it 
this  way:  *  Now  I'll  send  Dick  Townsend  down 
there  to  look  at  it.  He'll  say  it's  no  good.  Then 
I'll  buy  him  out  and  unload  this  Cross  of  Gold 
hole  and  plant  it  on  some  tenderfoot  and  get 
mine  back!  '  You  cain't  make  me  believe  in  any 
of  those  Wall  Street  fellers !  They  all  deal  from 
the  bottom  of  the  deck  and  keep  shoemaker's 
wax  on  their  cuff  buttons  to  steal  the  lone  ace !  " 

As  if  giving  the  lie  to  his  growling  complaints 
and  pessimism,  he  laughed  with  a  bellowing 
cachinnation  that  prompted  the  burros,  now 
rested,  to  look  at  him  with  long  gray  ears  thrust 
forward  curiously,  and  wonder  at  his  noise. 

Townsend  appeared  to  comprehend  that  his 
partner  was  but  half  in  earnest,  and  smiled  good- 
humoredly. 

"  Well,  Bill,"  he  said,  "  if  the  mine's  not  full 
of  water  or  bad  air,  so  that  we  can't  form  any 
idea  at  all,  we'll  not  be  long  in  saying  what  we 
think  of  it.  We  ought  to  be  there  in  an  hour 
from  now.  Let's  hike." 

They  began  the  slow,  plodding  gait  of  the 
packer  again,  finding  it  easier  now  that  they  were 


28  THE  PLUNDERER 

on  the  crest  of  a  divide  where  the  trail  was  less 
obstructed  and  firmer,  and  the  yellow  lines  on 
the  peak,  their  goal,  came  more  plainly  into  view. 
The  cross  resolved  itself  into  a  peculiar  slide  of 
oxidized  earth  traversing  two  gullies,  and  the 
arm  of  the  cross  no  longer  appeared  true  to  the 
perpendicular.  The  tall  tamaracks  began  to 
segregate  as  the  travelers  dropped  to  a  lower 
altitude;  and  pine  and  fir,  fragrant  with  spring 
odor,  seemed  watching  them.  The  trail  at  last 
took  an  abrupt  turn  away  from  the  cross-marked 
mountain,  and  they  came  to  another  halt. 

"  This  must  be  where  they  told  us  to  turn  off 
through  the  woods  and  down  the  slope,  I  think," 
said  Townsend.  "  Doesn't  it  seem  so  to  you, 
Bill?" 

The  old  prospector  frowned  off  toward  the 
top  of  the  peak  now  high  above  them,  and  then, 
with  the  peculiar  farsightedness  of  an  outdoor 
man  of  the  West,  looked  around  at  the  horizon 
as  if  calculating  the  position  of  the  mine. 

"  Sure,"  he  agreed.  "  It  can't  be  any  use  to 
keep  on  the  trail  now.  We'd  better  go  to  the 
right.  They  said  we'd  come  to  a  little  draw, 
then  from  the  top  of  a  low  divide  we'd  see  the 
mine  buildings.  Come  on,  Jack,"  he  ended,  ad- 
dressing the  foremost  burro,  which  patiently 


THE  CROIX  D'OR  29 

turned  after  him  as  he  led  the  way  through  the 
trees. 

They  came  to  the  draw,  which  proved  shallow, 
climbed  the  opposite  bank,  and  gave  an  exclama- 
tion of  surprise. 

"  Holy  Moses !  They  had  some  buildings  and 
plant  there,  eh,  Dick?  " 

The  other,  as  if  remembering  all  that  was  rep- 
resented in  the  scene  below,  did  not  answer.  He 
was  thinking  of  the  days  when  his  father  and  he 
had  been  friendly,  and  of  how  that  restless, 
grasping,  conquering  dreamer  had  built  many 
hopes,  even  as  he  squandered  many  dollars,  on 
the  Croix  d'Or.  It  was  to  produce  millions.  It 
was  to  be  one  of  the  greatest  gold  mines  in  the 
world.  All  that  it  required  was  more  develop- 
ment. Now,  it  was  to  have  a  huge  mill  to  handle 
vast  quantities  of  low-grade  ore;  then  all  it 
needed  was  cheaper  power,  so  it  must  have  elec- 
tric equipment.  Again  the  milling  results  were 
not  good,  and  what  it  demanded  was  the  cyanide 
process. 

And  so  it  had  been,  for  years  that  he  could 
still  remember,  and  always  it  led  his  father  on 
and  on,  deferring  or  promising  hope,  to  come, 
at  last,  to  this!  A  great,  idle  plant  with  some 
of  its  buildings  falling  into  decay,  its  roadways 


3o  THE  PLUNDERER 

obliterated  by  the  brush  growth  that  was  creep- 
ing back  through  the  clearings  as  Nature  recon- 
quered her  own,  and  its  huge  waste  dumps  losing 
their  ugliness  under  the  green  moss. 

It  seemed  useless  to  think  of  anything  more 
than  an  occasional  pay  chute.  Yet,  as  he  thought 
of  it,  hope  revived;  for  there  had  been  pay 
chutes  of  marvelous  wealth.  Why,  men  still 
talked  of  the  Bonanza  Chute  that  yielded  eighty 
thousand  dollars  in  four  days'  blasting  before  it 
worked  out!  Maybe  there  were  others,  but  that 
was  what  his  father  and  Sloan  had  always  ex- 
pected, and  never  found! 

His  meditations  were  cut  short  by  a  shout  from 
below.  A  man  appeared,  small  in  the  distance, 
on  the  flat,  or  "  yard  "  of  what  seemed  to  be  the 
blacksmith  shop. 

"Wonder  who* that  can  be?"  speculated  Bill, 
drawing  his  hat  rim  farther  over  his  eyes. 

"  I  don't  know,"  answered  Townsend,  puz- 
zled. "  I  never  heard  of  their  having  any  watch- 
men here.  But  we'll  soon  find  out." 

They  started  down  the  hillside  at  a  faster  pace, 
the  tired  animals  surmising,  with  their  curiously 
acute  instinct,  that  this  must  be  the  end  of  the 
journey  and  hastening  to  have  it  over  with.  As 
they  broke  through  a  screen  of  brush  and  came 


THE  CROIX  D'OR  31 

out  to  the  edge  of  what  had  been  a  clearing  back 
of  a  huge  log  bunk-house,  the  man  who  had 
shouted  came  rapidly  forward  to  meet  them. 
There  was  a  certain  shiftless,  sullen,  yet  author- 
itative air  about  him  as  he  spoke. 

"  What  do  you  fellers  want  here?  "  he  asked. 
"  I  s'pose  you  know  that  no  one's  allowed  on  the 
Cross  ground,  don't  you?" 

"  We  didn't  know  that,"  replied  Townsend, 
inclined  to  be  pacific,  "  but  I  fancy,  we  are  dif- 
ferent from  almost  any  one  else  that  would 
come.  We  represent  the  owners." 

"  Can't  help  that,"  came  the  blustering 
answer.  "  You'll  have  to  hit  the  trail.  I  don't 
take  orders  from  no  one  but  Presby." 

A  shade  of  annoyance  was  depicted  on  Town- 
send's  face  as  he  continued  to  ignore  the  watch- 
man's arrogance,  and  asked:  "And  please  tell 
us,  who  is  Presby?  " 

"Presby?  Who's  Presby?  What  are  you 
handin'  me?  You  don't  know  Presby?  " 

"  I  don't,  or  I  shouldn't  have  asked  you," 
Townsend  answered  with  less  patience. 

"  Say,"  drawled  his  companion,  with  a  calm 
deliberation  that  would  have  been  dreaded  by 
those  who  knew  him,  "  does  it  hurt  you  much  to 


32  THE  PLUNDERER 

be  civil?    You  were  asked  who  this  man  Presby 
is.     Do  you  get  that?  " 

The  watchman  glared  at  him  for  a  moment, 
but  there  was  something  in  the  cold  eyes  and  firm 
lines  of  the  prospector's  face  that  caused  him  to 
hesitate  before  venturing  any  further  display  of 
officiousness. 

"  He's  the  owner  of  the  Rattler,"  he  answered 
sullenly,  "  and  I've  got  orders  from  him  that  no- 
body, not  any  one,  is  to  step  a  foot  on  this- 
ground.  If  you'd  'a'  come  by  the  road,  you'd  'a' 
seen  the  sign." 

The  partners  looked  at  each  other  for  an  in- 
stant, and  the  younger  man,  ignoring  the  elder's 
apparent  wrath,  said:  '  Well,  I  suppose  the  best 
thing  we  can  do  is  to  leave  the  burros  here  and 
go  and  see  Presby,  and  get  this  man  of  his  called 
off." 

"  You'll  leave  no  burros  here !  "  asserted  the 
watchman,  recovering  his  combativeaess. 

'  Why,  you  fool,"  exploded  Mathews,  start-' 
ing  toward  him  with  his  fists  clenched  and  anger 
blazing  from  his  eyes  at  the  watchman's  obstinate 
stupidity,  "  you're  talking  to  one  of  the  owners 
of  this  mine!  This  is  Mr.  Townsend." 

For  an  instant  the  man  appeared  abashed,  and 


THE  CROIX  D'OR  33 

then  grumbled  acridly:  "Well,  I  can't  help  it. 
I've  got  orders  and " 

"  Oh,  come  on,  Bill,"  interrupted  the  owner, 
stepping  to  the  nearest  burro's  head.  "  We'll 
go  on  over  to  Presby,  and  get  rid  of  this  man  of 
his.  It  won't  hurt  the  burros  to  go  a  little 
farther." 

He  turned  to  the  watchman,  who  was  scowling 
and  obdurate. 

"  Where  can  Presby  and  the  Rattler  be 
found?  "  he  asked  crisply. 

"  Around  the  turn  down  at  the  mouth  of  the 
canon,"  the  watchman  mumbled.  "  It's  not  more 
than  half  or  three-quarters  of  a  mile  from  here, 
but  you'd  better  go  back  up  the  hill." 

As  if  this  last  suggestion  was  the  breaking 
straw,  the  big  prospector  jumped  forward,  and 
caught  the  man's  wrist  with  dexterous,  sinewy 
fingers.  He  gave  the  arm  a  jerk  that  almost  took 
the  man  from  his  feet.  His  eyes  were  hard  and 
sharp  now,  and  his  jaw  seemed  to  have  shut 
tightly. 

"  We'll  go  back  up  no  hill,  you  bet  on  that  I" 
he  asserted  belligerently.  "  We  go  by  the  road. 
We're  done  foolin'  with  you,  my  bucko !  You  go 
ahead  and  show  the  way  and  be  quick  about  it! 


34  THE  PLUNDERER 

If  you  don't,  you'll  have  trouble  with  me.    Now 

git!" 

He  released  the  wrist  with  a  shove  that  sent 
the  watchman  ten  feet  away,  and  cowed  him  to 
subjection.  He  recovered  his  balance,  and  hesi- 
tated for  a  minute,  muttering  something  about 
"  being  even  for  that,"  and  then,  as  the  big,  infu- 
riated miner  took  a  step  toward  him,  said:  "  All 
right!  Come  on,"  and  started  toward  a  road- 
way that,  half  ruined,  led  off  and  was  lost  at  a 
turn.  Cursing  softly  and  telling  the  burros  that 
it  was  a  shame  they  had  to  go  farther  on  account 
of  a  fool,  the  prospector  followed,  and  the  little 
procession  resumed  its  straggling  march. 

They  passed  the  huge  bunk-house,  a  mess- 
house,  an  assay  office,  what  seemed  to  be  the  su- 
perintendent's quarters,  and  a  dozen  smaller 
structures,  all  of  logs,  and  began  an  abrupt  de- 
scent. The  top  of  the  canon  was  so  high  that 
they  looked  down  on  the  roof  of  the  big,  silent 
stamp  mill  with  its  quarter  of  a  mile  of  covered 
tramway  stretching  like  a  huge,  weather-beaten 
snake  to  the  dumps  of  the  grizzly  and  breakers 
behind  it. 

The  road  was  blasted  from  the  side  of  the 
canon  on  which  they  were,  and  far  below,  be- 
tween them  and  the  hoisting  house  and  the  mill, 


THE  CROIX  D'OR  35 

ran  a  clear  little  mountain  stream,  undefiled  for 
years  by  the  silt  of  industry.  The  peak  of  the 
cross,  lifting  a  needle  point  high  above  them,  as 
if  keeping  watch  over  the  Blue  Mountains,  the 
far-distant  Ihaho  hills,  the  near-by  forests  of 
Oregon,  and  the  puny,  man-made  structures  at 
its  feet,  appeared  to  have  a  lofty  disdain  of  them 
and  the  burrowings  into  its  mammoth  sides,  as  if 
all  ravagers  were  mere  parasites,  mad  to  uncover 
its  secrets  of  gold,  and  futile,  if  successful,  to 
wreak  the  slightest  damage  on  its  aged  heart. 


CHAPTER   III. 

AN     UGLY     WATCHMAN 

BY  easy  stages  indicating  competent  engi- 
neering and  a  lavish  expenditure  of 
money,  the  road  led  them  downward  to  a 
barricade  of  logs,  in  an  opening  of  which  swung 
a  gate  barely  wide  enough  to  pass  the  tired  burros 
and  their  packs. 

"  You'll  find  Presby  over  there,"  said  their 
unwilling  guide,  pointing  at  a  group  of  red- 
painted  mining  structures  nestled  in  a  flat  lap  in 
the  ragged  mountains. 

They  surmised  that  this  must  be  the  Rattler 
camp,  and  inspected  its  display  of  tall  smoke- 
stacks, high  hoists,  skeleton  tramways,  and  bleak 
dumps.  Before  they  could  make  any  reply,  the 
gite  behind  them  slammed  shut  with  a  vicious 
bang  that  attracted  their  attention.  They  turned 
to  see  the  watchman  hurrying  back  up  the  road. 
Fixed  to  the  barricade  was  a  sign,  crudely  let- 
tered, but  insistently  distinct : 

No  one  allowed  on  these  premises,  by  order  of 
the  owners.  For  any  business  to  be  transacted 
with  the  Croix  d'Or,  apply  to  Thomas  W.  Presby. 

36 


THE  UGLY  WATCHMAN  37 

"Curt  enough,  at  least,  isn't  he?"  commented 
Townsend,  half-smiling. 

"Curt!"  growled  his  companion,  frowning, 
with  his  recent  anger  but  half-dissipated.  "  Curt 
as  a  bulldog  takin'  a  bite  out  of  your  leg.  Don't 
waste  no  time  at  all  on  words.  Just  says :  *  It's 
you  I'm  lookin'  after.'  Where  do  you  reckon 
we'll  find  this  here  Thomas  Presby  person?  " 

"  I  suppose  he  must  have  an  office  up  there 
somewhere,"  answered  Townsend,  waving  his 
arm  in  the  direction  of  the  scattered  buildings 
spread  in  that  profligacy  of  space  which  comes 
where  space  is  free. 

"  These  mules  is  tired.  It's  a  shame  we 
couldn't  have  left  them  up  there,"  Mathews 
answered,  looking  at  them  and  fondling  the  ears 
of  the  nearest  one.  "  You  go  on  up  and  get  an 
order  letting  us  into  your  mine,  and  I'll  wait  here. 
No  use  in  makin'  these  poor  devils  do  any  more'n 
they  have  to." 

Townsend  assented,  and  followed  a  path 
which  zigzaged  around  bowlders  and  stumps  up 
to  the  red  cluster  on  the  hillside  above  him.  He 
was  impatient  and  annoyed  at  the  useless  delays 
imposed  upon  them  in  this  new  venture,  and 
wondered  why  his  father's  partner  had  not  in- 
formed him  of  the  fact  that  he  would  find  the 


3 8  THE  PLUNDERER 

mine  guarded  by  the  owner  of  the  adjoining  prop- 
erty. 

A  camp  "  washwoman,"  with  clothespins  in 
her  mouth,  and  a  soggy  gray  shirt  in  her  hands, 
paused  to  stare  at  him  from  beneath  a  row  of 
other  gray  and  blue  shirts  and  coarse  under- 
wear, dripping  from  the  lines  above  her  head. 

Two  little  boys,  fantastically  garbed  in  faded 
blue  denim  which  had  evidently  been  refashioned 
from  cast-off  wearing  apparel  of  their  sires,  fol- 
lowed after  him,  hand  in  hand,  as  if  the  advent 
of  a  stranger  on  the  Rattler  grounds  was  an  event 
of  interest,  and  he  found  himself  facing  a  squat, 
red,  white-bordered,  one-storied  building,  over 
whose  door  a  white-and-black  sign  told  the  stran- 
ger, or  applicant  for  work,  that  he  was  at  the 
"  office." 

A  man  came  to  a  window  in  a  picketed  wicket 
as  he  entered,  and  said  briskly:  "  Well?  " 

"  I  want  to  see  Mr.  Presby,"  Dick  answered, 
wasting  no  more  words  than  had  the  other. 

"Oh,  well,  if  nobody  else  will  do,  go  in  through 
that  door." 

Before  he  had  finished  his  speech,  the  book- 
keeper had  turned  again  toward  the  ledgers 
spread  out  on  an  unpainted,  standing  desk  against 
the  wall  behind  his  palings,  and  Dick  walked  to 


THE  UGLY  WATCHMAN  39 

the  only  door  in  sight.  He  opened  it,  and  stepped 
inside.  A  white-headed,  scowling  man,  clean 
shaven,  and  with  close-shut,  thin,  hard  lips, 
looked  up  over  a  pile  of  letters  and  accounts 
laid  before  him  on  a  cheap,  flat-topped  desk. 

Dick's  eyes  opened  a  trifle  wider.  He  was 
looking  at  the  man  who  had  defied  the  mob  at 
the  road  house,  and  at  this  close  range  studied 
his  appearance  more  keenly. 

There  was  hard,  insolent  mastery  in  his  every 
line.  His  face  had  the  sternness  of  granite.  His 
hands,  poised  when  interrupted  in  their  task,  were 
firm  and  wrinkled  as  if  by  years  of  reaching;  and 
his  heavy  body,  short  neck,  and  muscle-bent 
shoulders,  all  suggested  the  man  who  had  relent- 
lessly fought  his  way  to  whatever  position  of 
dominancy  he  might  then  occupy.  He  wore  the 
same  faded  black  hat  planted  squarely  on  his 
head,  and  was  in  his  shirt-sleeves.  The  only  sign 
of  self-indulgence  betrayed  in  him  or  his  sur- 
roundings was  an  old  crucible,  serving  as  an  ash 
tray,  which  was  half-filled  with  cigar  stumps,  and 
Dick  observed,  in  that  instant's  swift  appraise- 
ment, that  even  these  were  chewed  as  if  between 
the  teeth  of  a  mentally  restless  man. 

'You  want  to  see  me?"  the  man  questioned, 
and  then,  as  if  the  thin  partition  had  not  muffled 


40  THE  PLUNDERER 

the  words  of  the  outer  office,  went  on :  '  You 
asked  for  Presby.  I'm  Presby.  What  do  you 
want?" 

For  an  instant,  self-reliant  and  cool  as  he  was, 
Dick  was  confused  by  the  directness  of  his  greet- 
ing. 

"  I  should  like  to  have  you  tell  that  watchman 
over  at  the  Croix  d'Or  that  we  are  to  be  ad- 
mitted there,"  he  replied,  forgetting  that  he  had 
not  introduced  himself. 

"  You  should,  eh  ?  And  who  are  you,  may  I 
ask?  "  came  the  dry,  satirical  response. 

Dick  flushed  a  trifle,  feeling  that  he  had  begun 
lamely  in  this  reception  and  request. 

"  I  am  Richard  Townsend,"  he  answered,  re- 
covering himself.  "  A  son  of  Charles  Townsend, 
and  a  half-owner  in  the  property.  I've  come  to 
look  the  Croix  d'Or  over." 

He  was  not  conscious  of  it  then,  but  remem- 
bered afterward,  that  Presby  was  momentarily 
startled  by  the  announcement.  The  man's  eyes 
seemed  intent  on  penetrating  and  appraising  him, 
as  he  stood  there  without  a  seat  having  been  prof- 
fered, or  any  courtesy  shown.  Then,  as  if  think- 
ing, Presby  stared  at  the  inkwell  before  him,  and 
frowned. 

"  How  am  I  to  know  that?  "  he  asked.     "  The 


THE  UGLY  WATCHMAN  41 

Cross  has  had  enough  men  wanting  to  look  it 
over  to  make  an  army.  Maybe  you're  one  of 
them.  Got  any  letters  telling  me  that  I'm  to 
turn  it  over  to  you?  " 

For  an  instant  Dick  was  staggered  by  this 
obstacle. 

"  No,"  he  said  reluctantly,  "  I  have  not;  that 
is,  nothing  directed  to  you.  I  did  not  know  that 
you  were  in  charge  of  the  property." 

He  was  surprised  to  notice  that  Presby's  heavy 
brows  adjusted  themselves  to  a  scowl.  He  won- 
dered why  the  mine  owner  should  be  antagonistic 
to  him,  when  there  was  nothing  at  stake. 

"  Well,  I  am,"  asserted  Presby.  "  I  hired  the 
watchman  up  there,  and  I  see  to  it  that  all  the 
stuff  lying  around  loose  isn't  stolen." 

"  On  whose  authority,  may  I  ask?  "  questioned 
Dick,  without  thought  of  giving  offense,  but 
rather  as  a  means  of  explaining  his  position. 

"  Sloan's.  Why,  you  don't  think  I'm  watching 
it  because  I  want  it,  do  you,  young  man?  The 
old  watchman  threw  up  his  job.  I  had  Sloan's 
address,  and  wrote  him  about  it.  Sloan  wrote 
and  asked  me  to  get  a  man  to  look  after  it,  and 
I  did.  Now,  you  show  me  that  you've  got  a 
right  to  go  on  the  grounds  of  the  Cross  Mine, 
and  I'll  give  an  order  to  the  watchman." 


42  THE  PLUNDERER 

There  was  absolute  antagonism  in  his  tone, 
although  not  in  his  words.  Dick  thought  of  noth- 
ing at  the  moment  but  that  he  had  one  sole  proof 
of  his  ownership,  the  letter  from  Sloan  himself. 
He  unbuttoned  the  flap  of  his  shirt  pocket,  and, 
taking  out  a  bundle  of  letters,  selected  the  one 
bearing  on  the  situation. 

"  That  should  be  sufficient,"  he  said,  throwing 
it,  opened,  before  Presby. 

The  latter,  without  moving  his  solid  body  in 
the  least,  and  as  if  his  arms  and  hands  were 
entirely  independent  of  it,  stolidly  picked  up  the 
letter  and  read  it.  Dick  could  infer  nothing  of 
its  reception.  He  could  not  tell  whether  Presby 
was  inclined  to  accept  it  as  sufficient  authority,  or 
to  question  it.  Outside  were  the  sounds  of  the 
Rattler's  activity  and  production,  the  heavy, 
thunderous  roar  of  the  stamp  mill,  the  clash  of 
cars  of  ore  dumped  into  the  maws  of  the  grizzly 
to  be  hammered  into  smaller  fragments  in  their 
journey  to  the  crusher,  and  thence  downward  to 
end  their  journeys  over  the  thumping  stamps,  and 
out,  disintegrated,  across  the  wet  and  shaking 
tables. 

It  seemed,  as  he  stood  waiting,  that  the  dust 
of  the  pulverized  mountains  had  settled  over 
everything  in  the  office  save  the  granite-like 


THE  UGLY  WATCHMAN  43 

figure  that  sat  at  the  desk,  rereading  the  letter 
which  had  changed  all  his  life.  For  the  first  time 
he  thought  that  perhaps  he  should  not  have  so 
easily  displayed  that  link  with  his  past.  It  seemed 
a  useless  sacrilege.  If  the  mine-owner  was  not 
reading  the  letter,  he  was  pondering,  unmoved, 
over  a  course  of  action,  and  took  his  time. 

Dick  thought  bitterly,  in  a  flash,  of  all  that  it 
represented.  The  quarrel  with  his  father  on  that 
day  he  had  returned  from  Columbia  University 
with  a  mining  course  proudly  finished,  when  each, 
stubborn  by  nature,  had  insisted  that  his  plan  was 
the  better;  of  his  rebellious  refusal  to  enter  the 
brokerage  office  in  Wall  Street,  and  declaration 
that  he  intended  to  go  into  the  far  West  and  fol- 
low his  profession,  and  of  the  stern  old  man's 
dismissal  when  he  asserted,  with  heat: 

"  You've  always  taken  the  road  you  wanted 
to  go  since  your  mother  died.  I  objected  to  your 
taking  up  mining  engineering,  but  you  went  ahead 
in  spite  of  me.  I  tried  to  get  you  to  take  an  in- 
terest in  the  business  that  has  been  my  life  work, 
but  you  scorned  it.  You  wouldn't  be  a  broker, 
or  a  banker.  You  had  to  be  a  mining  engineer! 
All  right,  you've  had  your  way,  so  far.  Now, 
you  can  keep  on  in  the  way  you  have  selected.  I'll 
give  you  five  thousand  dollars,  but  you'll  never 


44  THE  PLUNDERER 

get  another  cent  from  me  until  you've  learned 
what  a  fool  you're  making  of  yourself,  and  re- 
turn to  do  what  I  want  you  to  do.  It  won't  be 
long!  There's  a  vast  difference  between  dawd- 
ling around  a  university  learning  something  that 
is  going  to  be  useless  while  your  father  pays  the 
bills,  and  turning  that  foolish  education  into  dol- 
lars to  stave  off  an  empty  belly.  You  can  go 
now." 

In  those  days  the  house  of  Phillip  Townsend 
had  been  a  great  name  in  New  York.  Now  this 
was  all  that  was  left  of  it.  Dissolution,  death, 
and  dust,  and  a  half-interest  in  an  abandoned 
mine !  The  harsh  voice  of  Bully  Presby  aroused 
him  from  his  thoughts. 

"  All  right,"  it  said.  "  This  seems  sufficient, 
but  if  you've  got  the  sense  and  judgment  Sloan 
seems  to  think  you  have,  you'll  come  to  the  con- 
clusion that  there's  not  much  use  in  wasting  any 
of  his  good,  hard  dollars  on  the  Croix  d'Or.  It 
never  has  paid.  It  never  will  pay.  I  offered  to 
buy  it  once,  but  I  wouldn't  give  a  dollar  for  it 
now,  beyond  what  the  timber  above  ground  is 
worth.  It  owns  a  full  section  of  timberland,  and 
that's  about  all." 

He  reached  for  a  pen  and  wrote  a  note  to  the 
watchman,  telling  him  that  the  bearer,  Richard 


THE  UGLY  WATCHMAN  45 

Townsend,  had  come  to  look  over  the  property 
and  that  his  orders  must  be  accepted,  and  signed 
it  with  his  hard-driven  scrawl.  He  handed  it 
up  to  Dick  without  rising  from  his  seat,  and  said: 
"  That'll  fix  you  up,  I  think." 

As  if  by  an  afterthought,  he  asked:  "  Have 
you  any  idea  of  the  condition  of  the  mine?  " 

"  No,"  Dick  answered,  as  he  folded  the  letter 
and  put  it  into  his  pocket,  together  with  the  one 
from  his  late  father's  partner. 

"  Well,  then,  I  can  tell  you,  it's  bad,"  said 
Presby,  fixing  him  with  his  cool,  hard  stare. 
"  The  Cross  is  spotted.  Once  in  a  while  they 
had  pay  chutes.  They  never  had  a  true  ledge. 
There  isn't  one  there,  as  far  as  anybody  that  ever 
worked  it  knows.  They  wasted  five  hundred 
thousand  dollars  trying  to  find  it,  and  drove  ten 
thousand  feet  of  drifts  and  tunnels.  They  went 
down  more  than  six  hundred  feet.  She's  under 
water,  no  one  knows  how  deep.  It  might  take 
twenty  thousand  to  un-water  the  sinking  shaft 
again,  and  at  the  bottom  you'd  find  nothing. 
Take  my  advice.  Let  it  alone.  Good-day." 

Dick  walked  out,  scarcely  knowing  whether 
to  feel  grateful  for  the  churlish  advice  or  to  re- 
sume his  wonted  attitude  of  self-reliance  and  hold 
himself  unprejudiced  by  Presby's  condemnation 


46  THE  PLUNDERER 

of  the  Croix  d'Or.  He  wondered  if  Bully 
Presby  suspected  him  of  having  been  friendly 
with  the  mob  of  drunken  ruffians  at  the  road 
house,  but  he  had  been  given  no  chance  to 
explain. 

At  the  bottom  of  the  gulch  he  found  Bill 
sprawled  at  length  on  his  elbows  almost  under 
the  forefeet  of  one  of  the  burros  which  was  nos- 
ing him  over  in  a  friendly  caress.  He  called  out 
as  he  approached,  and  the  big  prospector  sat 
up,  deftly  snapped  the  cigarette  he  had  been 
smoking  into  the  creek  with  his  thumb  and  fore- 
finger, and  got  to  his  feet. 

"  Do  we  get  permission  to  go  on  the  claim?  " 
he  grinned,  as  Townsend  reached  him. 

'  Yes,  I've  got  an  order  to  the  watchman.  The 
old  man  doesn't  seem  to  think  much  of  it.  Says 
it's  spotted.  Had  rich  pay  chutes,  but  they 
pinched.  No  regular  formation.  Always  been 
a  loser.  Thinks  we'd  be  foolish  to  do  anything 
with  it." 

"  Good  of  him,  wasn't  it?  " 

Dick  looked  quickly  at  the  hard,  lined  face  of 
his  companion. 

'  That's  the  first  thing  I've  heard  that  made 
me  feel  better,"  declared  the  prospector,  as  he 
swung  one  of  the  burro's  heads  back  into  the  trail 


THE  UGLY  WATCHMAN  47 

and  hit  the  beast  a  friendly  slap  on  the  haunches 
to  start  it  forward.  "  Whenever  a  man,  like  this 
old  feller  seems  to  be,  gives  me  that  kind  of 
advice,  I  sit  up  and  take  notice." 

"  Why — why,  what  do  you  know  about  him?  " 
Dick  asked,  falling  into  the  trail  behind  the  pack 
animals,  which  had  started  forward  with  their 
slow  jog  trot,  and  ears  swaying  backward  and 
forward  as  they  went. 

"  While  you  was  gone,"  Mathews  answered, 
"  I  had  a  long  talk  with  a  boy  that  came  along 
and  got  friendly.  You  can  believe  boys,  most 
of  'em.  They  know  a  heap  more  than  men. 
They  think  out  things  that  men  don't.  Kids 
are  always  friends  with  me;  you  know  that.  I 
reckon,  from  what  I  gathered,  that  this  Presby 
man  is  about  as  hard  and  grasping  an  old  cuss 
as  ever  worked  the  last  ounce  of  gold  out  of 
a  waste  dump.  He  makes  the  men  save  the  fags 
of  the  candles  and  the  drips,  so's  he  can  melt 
'em  over  again.  He  runs  a  company  store,  and 
if  they  don't  buy  boots  and  grub  from  him,  they 
have  to  tear  out  mighty  quick.  He  fired  a  fire- 
man because  the  safety-valve  in  the  boiler-house 
let  go  one  day  twenty  minutes  before  the  noon 
shift  went  back  to  work.  If  he  says,  *  Let  the 
Cross  alone,'  I  think  it's  because  he  wants  it." 


48  THE  PLUNDERER 

"  You  couldn't  guess  who  he  is,"  Dick  said, 
preparing  to  move. 

"Why?    Do  I  know  him?" 

"  In  a  way.  He's  the  man  we  saw  the  mob 
tackle,  back  there  at  the  road  house." 

Bill  gave  a  long  whistle. 

"  So  that's  the  chap,  eh?  Bully  Presby!  Well, 
if  we  ever  run  foul  of  him,  we've  got  our  work 
cut  out  for  us.  Things  are  beginnin'  to  get  in- 
terestin'.  *  I  like  the  place,'  as  Daniel  said  when 
he  went  to  sleep  in  the  lion's  den." 

They  opened  the  gate  through  the  barricade 
without  any  formality,  and  were  well  started  up 
the  inclined  road  of  the  Croix  d'Or  before  they 
encountered  the  watchman  who  had  given  them 
so  much  trouble.  As  he  came  toward  them, 
frowning,  they  observed  that  he  had  buckled  a 
pistol  round  him  as  if  to  resist  any  intrusion  in 
case  it  should  be  attempted  without  instructions. 
Dick  handed  him  Presby's  order,  and  the  man 
read  it  through  in  surly  silence;  then  his  entire 
attitude  underwent  a  swift  change.  He  became 
almost  obsequiously  respectful. 

"  I'll  have  to  go  down  and  have  a  talk  with 
Mr.  Presby,"  he  said,  and  would  have  ventured 
a  further  remark,  but  was  cut  short  by  the  mine- 
owner. 


THE  UGLY  WATCHMAN  49 

"  Yes,  you'd  better  go  and  see  him,"  Dick  said 
concisely.  "  And  when  you  go,  take  all  of  your 
dunnage  you  can  carry,  then  come  back  and  get 
the  rest.  I  shall  not  want  you  on  the  claim  an 
hour  longer  than  necessary  for  you  to  get  your 
stuff  away.  You're  too  good  a  man  to  have 
around  here." 

The  fellow  gave  a  shrug  of  his  shoulders,  an 
evil  grin,  and  turned  back  up  the  road  to  vanish 
in  what  had  evidently  been  the  superintendent's 
cabin,  and  noisily  began  to  whistle  as  he  gathered 
his  stuff  together.  The  partners  halted  before 
the  door,  and  Dick  looked  inside. 

"  I  suppose  you  have  the  keys  for  everything, 
haven't  you?  "  he  called. 

The  man  impudently  tossed  a  bundle  at  him 
without  a  word.  Apparently  his  belongings  were 
but  few,  which  led  the  newcomers  to  believe  that 
he  had  taken  his  meals  at  the  Rattler,  and  per- 
haps slept  there  on  many  nights.  They  watched 
him  as  he  rolled  his  blankets,  and  prepared  to 
start  down  the  trail. 

"  The  rest  of  that  plunder  in  there,  the  pots 
and  the  lamp,  belong  to  the  mine,"  he  said.  And 
then,  without  other  words,  turned  away. 

"  That  may  be  the  last  of  him,  and  maybe  it 
won't!  "  growled  Bill,  as  he  began  throwing  the 


50  THE  PLUNDERER 

hitches  off  the  tired  burros  that  stood  panting  out- 
side the  door.  "  Anyway,  it's  the  fag  end  of 
him  to-night." 

They  were  amazed  at  the  lavish  expenditure 
of  money  that  had  been  made  in  the  superin- 
tendent's quarters.  There  were  a  porcelain  bath- 
tub brought  up  into  the  heart  of  the  wilderness, 
a  mahogany  desk  whose  edges  had  been  burned 
by  careless  smokers,  and  a  safe  whose  door 
swung  open,  exposing  a  litter  of  papers,  mine 
drawings,  and  plans.  The  four  rooms  evidently 
included  office  and  living  quarters,  and  they  be- 
tokened a  reckless  financial  outlay  for  the  pur- 
pose. 

"  Poor  Dad!  "  said  Dick,  looking  around  him. 
"  No  wonder  the  Cross  lost  money  if  this  is  a 
sample  of  the  way  the  management  spent  it." 

He  stepped  outside  to  where  the  canon  was 
beginning  to  sink  into  the  dusk.  The  early  moon, 
still  behind  the  silhouette  of  the  eastern  fringe  of 
peaks  and  forests,  lighted  up  the  yellow  cross 
mark  high  above,  and  for  some  reason,  in  the 
stillness  of  the  evening,  he  accepted  it  as  a  sign 
of  promise. 


CHAPTER    IV 

THE    BLACK    DEATH 

IT  took  seven  days  of  exploration  to  reveal  the 
condition  of  the  Cross  of  Gold,  and  each 
night    the    task    appeared    more    hopeless. 
The  steel  pipe  line,  leading  down  for  three  miles 
of  sinuous,  black  length,  from  a  reservoir  high  up 
in  the   hills,   had  been   broken  here   and  there 
maliciously  by  some  one  who  had  traversed  its 
length  and  with  a  heavy  pick  driven  holes  into  it 
that  inflicted  thousands  of  dollars  of  expense. 

The  Pelton  wheels  in  the  power  house,  neg- 
lected, were  rusted  in  their  bearings,  and  without 
them  and  the  pipe  line  there  could  be  no  .electric 
power  on  which  the  mill  depended.  The  mill 
had  been  stripped  of  all  smaller  stuff,  and  its 
dynamos  had  been  chipped  with  an  ax  until  the 
copper  windings  showed  frayed  and  useless.  The 
shoes  of  the  huge  stamps  were  worn  down  to  a 
thin,  uneven  rim,  battering  on  broken  surfaces. 
The  Venners  rattled  on  their  foundations,  and 


52  THE  PLUNDERER 

the  plates  had  been  scarred  as  if  by  a  chisel  in 
the  hands  of  a  maniac. 

The  blacksmith's  tunnel — the  tunnel  leading 
off  from  the  level — was  blocked  by  fallen  tim- 
bers where  a  belt  of  lime  formation  cut  across; 
and  fragments  of  wood,  splintered  into  tooth- 
pick size,  had  been  thrown  out  when  the  moun- 
tain settled  to  its  place.  But  a  short  distance  from 
the  main  shaft,  which  was  a  double  compartment, 
carrying  two  cages  up  and  down,  in  every  level 
the  air  was  foul  down  to  the  five-hundred  foot, 
and  below  that  the  mine  was  filled  with  water. 

Patiently  Dick  and  the  veteran  explored  these 
windings  as  far  as  they  might  until  the  guttering 
of  their  candles  warned  them  that  the  air  was 
loaded  with  poison,  and  often  they  retreated 
none  too  soon  to  scale  the  slippery,  yielding  rungs 
of  the  ladder  with  dizzy  heads.  Expert  and  ex- 
perienced, they  were  puzzled  by  what  was  dis- 
closed. Either  the  mine  had  yielded  exceedingly 
rich  streaks  and  had  been,  in  mining  parlance, 
"  gophered,"  or  else  the  management  had  been 
as  foolish  as  ever  handled  a  property. 

In  the  assay-house,  where  the  furnaces  were 
dust-covered,  the  scale  case  black  with  grime,  and 
the  floor  littered  with  refuse  crucibles,  cupels, 
mufflers,  and  worn  buckboards,  they  discovered  a 


THE  BLACK  DEATH  53 

bundle  of  old  tablets.  Almost  invariably  these 
showed  that  the  assays  had  been  made  from  sam- 
ples that  would  have  paid  to  work,  but  this  alone 
gave  them  no  hope. 

But  this  was  not  all.  A  mysterious  enmity 
seemed  to  pursue  all  their  efforts.  Yet  its  dis- 
plays were  unaccountable  for  by  natural  causes. 
On  their  arrival  at  the  mine  they  found  water, 
fresh  and  clear,  piped  into  every  cabin,  the  mess- 
house,  and  the  superintendent's  quarters.  They 
traced  it  back  and  discovered  a  small  lake  formed 
and  fed  by  a  large  spring  on  what  was  evidently 
land  of  the  mine.  It  suddenly  failed  them,  and 
proved  unwholesome.  An  investigation  of  the 
tiny  reservoir  disclosed  masses  of  poisonous 
weeds  in  the  water.  They  decided  that  they 
must  have  been  blown  there  after  their  arrival, 
cleared  the  supply  and  yet,  but  two  days  later, 
when  there  had  been  no  wind  of  more  than  notice- 
able violence,  the  weeds  were  there  again.  They 
abandoned  their  water  supply  for  the  time  being 
and  resorted  to  the  stream  at  the  bottom  of  the 
canon. 

!A  day  later  one  of  their  burros  died  mysteri- 
ously, and  Bill,  puzzled,  said  he  believed  that  it 
had  lost  its  sense  of  smell  and  eaten  something 
poisonous.  On  the  day  following  the  other  died, 


54  THE  PLUNDERER 

apparently  from  the  same  complaint.  The  vet- 
eran miner  grieved  over  them  as  for  friends. 

"  I've  been  acquainted  with  a  good  many  of 
'em,"  he  said,  sorrowfully,  "  but  I  never  knew 
two  that  had  finer  characters  than  these  two  did. 
They  were  regular  burros!  No  cheaters — just 
the  square,  open  and  above-board  kind,  that  never 
kicked  without  layin'  back  their  ears  to  give  you 
warnin'  and  never  laid  down  on  the  trail  unless 
they  wanted  to  rest.  The  meanest  thing  a  burro 
or  a  man  can  do  is  to  die  voluntarily  when  you're 
dependin'  on  him,  or  when  he  owes  you  work  or 
money.  So  it  does  seem  as  if  I  must  have  been 
mistaken  in  these  two,  after  all,  because  we  may 
need  'em." 

Dick  did  not  smile  at  his  homily,  for  he  caught 
the  significance  of  it,  that  the  Croix  d'Or  would 
have  to  make  a  better  showing  than  they  had  so 
far  discovered  to  warrant  them  in  opening  it. 
They  had  come  almost  to  the  end  of  the  investi- 
gations possible.  They  scanned  plans  and  scales 
in  the  office  to  familiarize  themselves  with  the 
property,  and  there  was  but  one  portion  of  it  they 
had  not  visited.  That  was  a  shaft  which  had 
been  the  "  discovery  hole,"  where  the  first  find  of 
ore  had  been  made.  And  it  was  this  they  entered 
on  the  day  when  Fate  seemed  most  particularly 


THE  BLACK  DEATH  55 

unkind.  Yet  even  Fate  appeared  to  relent,  in  the 
end,  through  one  of  those  trifling  afterthoughts 
which  lead  men  to  dc  the  insignificant  act.  They 
had  prepared  everything  for  the  venture.  They 
had  an  extra  supply  of  candles,  chalk  for  making 
a  course  mark,  sample  bags  for  such  pieces  of  ore 
as  might  interest  them,  and  the  prospectors'  picks 
and  hammers  when  they  started  out.  They  were 
a  hundred  yards  from  the  office  when  the  younger 
man  hesitated,  stopped  and  turned  back. 

"  I've  an  idea  we  might  need  those  old  maps," 
he  said.  '  We  haven't  gone  over  them  very 
much  and  they  might  come  in  handy." 

Bill  protested,  but  despite  this  Dick  went  back 
to  the  quarters  and  got  them.  They  were  crude, 
apparently,  compared  with  the  later  work  when 
competent  engineers  had  opened  the  mine  in 
earnest;  but  doubtless  had  served  their  purpose. 
The  men  came  to  the  mouth  of  the  old  shaft 
which  had  been  loosely  covered  over  with  poles, 
and  around  which  a  thicket  of  wild  blackberry 
bushes  had  sprung  up  in  stunted  growth.  An 
hour's  work  disclosed  the  black  opening  and  a 
ladder  in  a  fair  state  of  preservation.  They  low- 
ered a  candle  into  the  depths  and  saw  that  it 
burned  undimmed,  indicating  that  the  air  was 
pure,  and  then  descended  cautiously,  testing  each 


56  THE  PLUNDERER 

rung  as  they  went.  The  shaft  was  not  more 
than  fifty  feet  deep,  and  they  found  themselves 
standing  on  the  bottom  and  peering  off  into  a 
drift  which  had  been  crudely  timbered  and  had 
fallen  in  here  and  there  as  the  unworked  ground 
had  settled. 

"  There  doesn't  seem  to  be  much  of  anything 
here  except  some  starved  quartz,"  Bill  said, 
staring  at  the  wall  after  they  had  gone  in  some 
thirty  or  forty  feet,  and  they  had  come  to  a  place 
where  the  lagging  had  dropped  away.  He  caught 
another  piece  of  the  half-rotted  timbering  and 
jerked  it  loose  for  a  better  inspection.  It  gave 
with  a  dull  crack,  then,  immediately  after,  and 
seeming  almost  an  echo,  there  was  a  terrific 
rumble,  and  a  report  like  the  explosion  of  a  huge 
gun  back  in  the  direction  of  the  shaft.  Their 
candles  flickered  in  the  air  impact,  and  for  an 
instant  they  feared  that  the  roof  was  coming 
down  on  them  to  crush  them  out  of  all  resem- 
blance to  human  beings. 

They  turned  and  ran  toward  the  shaft.  A  few 
loose  pebbles  and  pieces  of  rock  were  dripping 
from  above  like  a  shower  of  porphyry.  For  an 
instant  they  dared  not  step  out,  but  stood  inside 
the  drift,  waiting  for  what  might  happen  and 
staring  at  each  other  with  set  faces  exposed  in 


THE  BLACK  DEATH  57 

the  still  flickering  light.  They  had  said  nothing 
up  to  this  time,  being  under  too  great  stress  to 
offer  other  than  sharp  exclamations. 

"  Sounds  like  that  shaft  had  given  way!  "  the 
veteran  exclaimed.  "  If  it  has " 

He  leaned  forward  and  looked  into  Dick's 
face. 

"  If  it  has,"  the  latter  took  up,  "  we  are  in  a 
bad  predicament." 

They  stood  tensed  and  anxious  until  the  peb- 
bles stopped  falling  and  a  silence  like  that  of  a 
tomb,  so  profound  as  to  seem  thick  and  dense, 
invaded  the  hollows;  then  Dick  started  out  into 
the  shaft.  He  felt  a  restraining  hand  on  his 
arm. 

"  Wait  a  minute,  boy,"  the  elder  man  said. 
"  You're  the  owner  here.  It's  dangerous.  I 
ought  to  be  the  one  to  go  first  and  find  out  what's 
happened.  You  wait  inside  the  drift." 

But  Dick  shook  his  hand  off  and  stepped  out 
to  look  upward.  A  dense  blackness  filled  what 
should  have  been  a  space  of  light.  This  he  had 
partially  expected  from  the  fact  that  when  they 
came  out  toward  the  shaft  there  had  been  no 
sign  of  day;  but  he  had  not  anticipated  such 
a  complete  closing  of  the  opening. 

"Lord!     We're  buried  in!"  came  an  excla- 


5.8  THE  PLUNDERER 

mation  from  behind  him,  and  he  felt  a  sudden 
sinking  of  the  heart. 

"  I'll  go  easily  till  I  come  to  it,"  he  said,  his 
voice  sounding  strained  and  loud  although  he  had 
spoken  scarcely  above  a  whisper.  '  You  stand 
clear  so  that  if  anything  gives,  Bill,  you  won't  be 
caught." 

The  elder  miner  would  have  protested,  but 
already  he  was  slowly  and  cautiously  climbing 
the  ladder.  Step  by  step  he  ascended,  holding 
the  light  above  his  head  to  discover  the  place 
where  the  shaft  had  given  way,  and  then  Bill, 
standing  anxiously  below,  heard  a  harsh  shout. 

"  I  think  the  ladder  will  bear  your  weight  as 
well  as  mine.  Come  up  here." 

The  big  man  climbed  steadily  upward  until  he 
stood  directly  beneath  the  younger  man's  feet. 
He  ventured  an  exclamation  that  was  almost  an 
oath. 

"  Not  the  shaft  at  all,"  he  said,  an  instant 
later.  "  It's  just  a  bowlder  so  big  that  it  filled  the 
whole  opening.  We're  plugged  and  penned  in 
here  like  rats  in  a  trap !  " 

Dick  took  his  little  prospecting  hammer  and 
tapped  the  bowlder,  at  first  gently,  then  with 
firmer  strokes,  and  looked  down  at  his  partner 
with  a  distressed  face. 


THE  BLACK  DEATH  59 

"  Hear  that?  "  he  exclaimed,  rather  than  ques- 
tioned. "  It's  a  big  one,  and  solid.  It  sounds 
bad  to  me." 

For  a  minute  they  waved  their  candles  round 
the  edge,  inspecting  the  resting  place  of  the  rock 
that  had  imprisoned  them.  Everywhere  it  was 
set  firmly.  A  fitted  door  could  have  been  no  more 
secure.  They  consulted,  and  at  last  Bill  descended 
and  stepped  back  into  the  entrance  to  the  drift  to 
avoid  falling  stone,  while  the  younger  man  at- 
tacked the  edge  beneath  the  bowlder,  inch  by  inch, 
trying  to  find  some  place  where  he  could  pick 
through  to  daylight.  At  last,  his  arm  wearied 
and  the  point  of  his  prospecting  hammer  dulled, 
he  rested. 

"  Come  down,  Dick,  and  I'll  take  a  spell," 
Bill  called  up  from  below,  and  he  obeyed. 

The  big  miner,  without  comment,  climbed  up, 
and  again  the  vault-like  space  was  filled  with  the 
persistent  picking  of  steel  on  stone.  For  a  half- 
hour  it  continued,  and  then,  slowly,  Bill  de- 
scended. He  sat  down  at  the  foot  of  the  shaft, 
wiped  the  sweat  from  his  face,  thrust  his  candle- 
stick in  a  crevice  and  rolled  a  cigarette  before  he 
said  anything,  and  then  only  as  Dick  started  to 
the  foot  of  the  ladder. 

"  It's  no  use,"  he  said.     "  We're  holed  up  all 


6o  THE  PLUNDERER 

right.  I  picked  clear  around  the  lower  edge  and 
there  isn't  a  place  where  she  isn't  resting  on  solid 
rock.  Nothing  but  dynamite  could  ever  move 
that  stone.  Unless  we  can  find  some  other  way 
out  we're " 

He  paused  and  Dick  added  the  finishing  word, 
"Gone!" 

"Exactly!  No  one  knows  we're  here.  No 
one  comes  to  the  mine.  We're  in  the  old  works 
which  I  don't  suppose  a  man  has  been  inside  of 
in  five  or  ten  years,  and  the  map  shows  that  it 
doesn't  connect  with  the  other  ones.  Answer — 
the  finish!" 

Dick  pulled  the  worn  and  badly  drawn  plans 
from  his  pocket  and  then  lighted  his  own  candle, 
indulging  in  the  extravagance  of  two  that  he 
might  study  the  faint  and  smudged  penciled  lines. 

"  Here,  Bill,"  he  said,  pointing  at  the  drawing. 
'  These  two  side  drifts  each  end  in  what  are  now 
sump  holes.  We've  got  to  watch  out  for  them. 
That  makes  it  safe  for  us  to  take  the  main  drift 
and  see  where  it  leads.  The  two  end  drifts  evi- 
dently ran  but  a  few  feet  and  were  then  aban- 
doned. So,  if  these  plans  are  any  good,  they,  too, 
are  safe,  if  we  can  get  into  them." 

The  elder  miner  peered  at  the  plans  and  stud- 


THE  BLACK  DEATH  61 

led  them.     He  stood  up  and  blew  out  his  candle. 
He  thrust  his  hands  into  his  pockets. 

"  I've  got  three  candles  left,"  he  said,  "  and  I 
cain't  just  exactly  say  why  I  put  that  many  in 
unless  the  Lord  gave  me  a  hunch  we'd  need  'em. 
How  many  you  got!  " 

"  One  in  my  pocket,  and  this." 
"  Then  we'd  better  move  fast,  eh?  " 
They  took  a  desperate  chance  on  foul  air  and 
plunged  down  the  drift,  pausing  only  now  and 
then  when  they  came  to  the  first  side  drifts  to 
make  sure  of  their  course.  They  were  informed 
by  the  plans  that  they  had  barely  three  hundred 
feet  to  explore,  yet  they  had  gone  even  farther 
than  that  before  they  came  to  a  halt,  a  threatening 
one,  for  directly  ahead  of  them  the  timbering 
had  given  way,  the  shaft  caved,  and  there  seemed 
at  first  no  opening  through  the  debris. 

'Well,  this  looks  pretty  tough!"  exclaimed 
Bill,  stooping  down  and  examining  the  face  of 
the  barrier. 

His  companion  lighted  his  own  candle  and  to- 
gether they  went  over  the  face  of  the  obstruction. 
"  It  looks  to  me  as  if  we  could  open  her  up  a 
little  if  we  can  shift  this  timber  here  and  use 
it  as  a  lever,"  he  said,  pointing  to  one  projecting 
near  the  roof. 


62  THE  PLUNDERER 

"  May  bring  the  whole  mountain  down,  but 
it's  our  only  chance,"  agreed  Bill.  "  Here  she 
goes.  Stand  back.  No  use  in  both  of  us  getting 
it." 

He  caught  the  end  of  the  timber  in  his  heavy 
hands,  planted  his  feet  firmly  on  the  floor  and 
heaved.  The  big  timber  creaked,  but  did  not 
give.  Again  he  planted  himself  and  this  time 
his  great  shoulders  seemed  to  twist  and  writhe 
until  the  muscles  cracked  and  then,  with  a  crash, 
the  barrier  gave  way.  He  sprang  back  with 
amazing  quickness  and  they  ran  back  up  the  drift 
for  twenty  or  thirty  feet  while  the  mass  again 
readjusted  itself  and  settled  slowly  into  position. 
A  cloud  of  dust  bellowed  toward  them,  half-chok- 
ing them  with  its  gritty  fineness,  and  then,  in  a 
minute,  the  air  had  cleared.  They  went  cautiously 
forward. 

"  Well,  we  got  some  farther,  anyhow,  unless 
she  comes  down  while  we're  working  through. 
We've  got  a  hole  to  crawl  into,  and  that's  some- 
thing," the  big  miner  asserted. 

Before  he  could  say  anything  more  Dick 
had  crowded  him  to  one  side  and  was  entering 
the  aperture.  He  had  prevented  his  partner  from 
taking  the  first  perilous  chance.  Painfully  he 
made  his  way,  while  the  man  behind  listened  with 


THE  BLACK  DEATH  63 

terrified  apprehension;  for  none  knew  better  than 
he  the  risk  of  that  progress. 

"  All  right,  but  be  careful,"  a  voice  came  to 
him  faintly  from  the  distance.  "  She's  bad,  but 
the  air  over  here  seems  good.  It's  a  close 
shave." 

The  big  miner  dropped  down  and  began  crawl- 
ing through  beneath  the  tons  of  balanced  rock, 
which  might  give  at  any  instant.  Larger  than 
his  younger  companion,  he  found  it  more  difficult 
for  his  great  shoulders  persisted  in  brushing  at 
all  times,  and  now  and  then  he  was  compelled 
to  squeeze  himself  through  a  narrow  place  that 
for  a  moment  threatened  to  be  impossible.  Once 
a  timber  above  him  gave  a  little  and  a  rock 
crowded  down  until  only  by  exerting  his  whole 
force  could  he  sustain  it  while  he  scraped  his 
hips  through  from  under  it.  Then  as  it  de- 
scended between  his  legs  he  found  one  of  them 
pinioned.  He  shut  his  teeth  desperately  to  avoid 
shouting,  and  twisted  sidewise,  and  back,  to  and 
fro,  at  the  imminent  danger  of  dislodging  every- 
thing above  him.  He  heard  an  anxious  voice 
calling  outside  and  replied  that  he  was  coming: 
and  was  all  right.  He  rested  for  an  instant  to 
regain  breath,  then  made  a  desperate  forward 
effort  to  find  that  his  foot  alone  caught  him. 


64  THE  PLUNDERER 

Again  he  rolled  from  side  to  side,  and  again 
he  rested. 

"  Bill!  Bill!  For  God's  sake,  what  has  hap- 
pened? "  he  heard  an  agonized  call  from  ahead. 

"  I'm  all  right,  boy,"  he  called  back  patiently. 
*'  Just  keep  away  from  the  hole  so  I  can  get  air. 
I'm — I'm  just  findin'  some  places  a  little  tight." 

His  reply  did  not  seem  to  allay  the  solicitude 
of  his  companion,  who  called  again,  "  Can  I  help 
you  in  any  way?  " 

"  Only  by  keeping  clear.  I'll  make  another 
try.  Stand  clear  so  if  she  comes  down  you  won't 
be  caught.  If  she  does  come — well — good-bye, 
Dick!" 

As  he  spoke  the  final  word  he  made  another 
fiercely  desperate  effort  from  his  new  position. 
There  was  a  ripping,  searing  pain  along  the 
length  of  his  foot  which  he  disregarded  in  that 
supreme  attempt  and  suddenly  he  seemed  to  slide 
forward  while  back  of  him  came  a  crunching, 
grinding  noise  as  the  disturbed  rock  which  had 
pinioned  him  settled  down  into  place.  He 
crawled  desperately  forward.  A  light  flared  in 
his  eyes  and  he  felt  strong  hands  thrust  under 
his  arm  pits  and  was  jerked  bodily  out  to  the  floor 
of  the  drift.  They  fell  together  and  the  candle, 
falling  with  them,  was  extinguished.  They  were 


THE  BLACK  DEATH  65 

overwhelmed,  as  they  lay  there  in  the  darkness, 
gasping,  by  a  terrific  crashing  impact  as  if  the 
whole  mountain  had  given  way  and  at  their  very 
feet  huge  rocks  thundered  down.  They  crawled 
farther  along  on  hands  and  knees  and  the  falling 
rock  seemed  to  pursue  them  malignantly.  For 
an  age  it  seemed  as  if  the  whole  drift  would  give 
way  as  each  set  of  timbers  came  to  the  strain  and 
failed  to  hold.  Then  again  all  was  still. 

Strangling,  sweating,  spent,  they  got  to  the  side 
wall  and  raised  themselves  up,  gasping  for  fresh 
air.  Their  senses  wavered  and  swooned  in  that 
half-suffocation  and  slowly  they  comprehended 
that  they  were  still  alive  and  that  the  dust  was 
settling.  "  Are  you  all  right?  "  they  called  to  each 
other  in  acute  unison,  their  voices  betraying  a 
great  apprehension,  and  then,  reassured  for  the 
instant,  they  sagged  weakly  against  the  walls  and 
each  reached  out  to  find  the  other.  Their  hands 
met  and  clasped  fervently  and,  again  in  unison, 
they  said,  "Thank  God!" 

A  match  spluttered  dimly  through  the  dark  and 
dust-clogged  air,  a  candle  slowly  took  flame  and 
they  looked  at  each  other.  Bill  was  leaning 
against  the  wall,  weakly,  and  trying  to  recover 
his  strength.  A  tattered  trousers  leg  clung  above 
his  bared  leg  and  foot  where  he  had  wrenched 


66  THE  PLUNDERER 

himself  loose  from  the  rock,  and  torn  his  boot 
away  in  so  doing.  Along  the  length  of  the  white 
flesh  was  a  flaring  line  of  red,  where  the  point 
of  rock  had  cut  deeply  when  he  made  that  last 
desperate  struggle  to  escape.  He  dropped  to 
the  floor  and  clutched  his  wound  with  his  hands 
while  Dick,  almost  with  a  moan,  thrust  his  candle- 
stick into  a  timber  and  savagely  tore  his  shirt 
off  and  rent  it  into  strips.  He  stooped  over  and 
with  hasty  skill  bandaged  the  wound. 

"  It's  not  bad,  I  hope,"  he  said,  "  but  it  does 
hurt,  doesn't  it,  old  partner?  " 

'  That's  nothin',"  bravely  drawled  the  giant, 
striving  to  force  a  grin  to  his  pain-drawn  lips. 
"  Don't  worry  now,  boy !  Think  what  might 
have  happened  if  I'd  been  there  a  minute  or  two 
longer,  or  if  I  couldn't  have  got  loose  at  all!  " 

In  their  thankfulness  for  the  last  escape  they 
had  almost  forgotten  the  fact  that  their  situation 
was  still  almost  hopeless,  and  that  perhaps  the 
speedy  end  would  have  been  preferable  to  one 
more  agonizing,  more  slow,  to  come.  They  got 
to  their  feet  at  last  and  hobbled  forward,  the 
big  man  resting  half  his  weight  on  his  friend's 
shoulder  and  making  slow  progress.  Again  they 
were  centered  on  the  faint  hope  that  beyond  was 
some  sort  of  opening,  because  now  they  knew  but 


THE  BLACK  DEATH  67 

too  well  that  their  retreat  was  effectually  cut  off. 
If  there  was  no  opening  ahead  they  were 
doomed.  They  consulted  the  plan  again  and  went 
forward.  Abruptly  they  came  to  a  halt,  shutting 
their  jaws  hard.  They  had  come  to  the  end  of 
the  main  drift  and  it  was  a  blank  wall  of  solid 
stone  where  the  prospectors  had  finished! 

"  Well,  old  man,  there's  still  the  two  side 
drifts  to  examine,"  said  Bill  with  a  plain  attempt 
to  appear  hopeful  that  did  not  in  the  least  de- 
ceive the  other. 

"  Yes.  That's  back  there  about  fifty  feet," 
Dick  assented,  finding  that  it  required  an  effort 
to  steady  his  voice.  "  The  other  one  is  behind 
that  barrier." 

They  looked  at  each  other,  reading  the  same 
thought.  They  had  but  one  more  chance  and  that 
was  almost  futile;  for  the  plans  indicated  that 
the  side  drift  extended  but  a  score  or  so  of  yards 
and  had  then  been  abandoned.  They  felt  their 
feet  faltering  when  they  turned  into  it,  dreading 
the  end,  dreading  the  revelation  that  must  tell 
them  they  were  to  die  in  this  limited  burrow  in 
the  hills.  But  courageously  they  tried  to  assume 
an  air  of  confidence.  They  did  not  speak  as  they 
progressed,  each  dreading  that  instant  when  he 
would  again  face  an  inexorable  barrier.  They 


68  THE  PLUNDERER 

counted  their  steps  as  they  went,  to  themselves. 
They  came  to  the  twentieth,  twenty-first,  twenty- 
second,  and  were  peering  fixedly  ahead.  To- 
gether they  stopped  and  turned  toward  each 
other.  Dimly  in  the  faintly  thrown  light  of  the 
candle  beams,  they  could  see  it,  the  dusky  gray 
mass  where  hope  had  pictured  a  continuing  black- 
ness. The  wall  leered  at  them  as  they  stood 
there  panting,  despairing,  desperate  as  trapped 
animals.  Their  imaginations  told  them  the  end. 

"  Well,  old  man  " — Bill's  voice  sounded  with 
exceptional  softness — "  they  didn't  extend  this 
drift  any  farther.  All  we  can  do  now  is  to  go 
up  and  sit  down  at  the  foot  of  it,  and — wait !  " 

"  But  it  won't  take  long,  Bill,"  Dick  replied. 
"  The  air,  you  know.  It  can't  last  forever." 

They  trudged  forward  for  the  few  remaining 
yards  and  then,  abruptly,  the  candle  they  were 
carrying  gave  a  little  flicker.  This  time  they 
stopped  in  their  tracks  and  shouted.  Bill  sud- 
denly loosened  his  hold  on  the  younger  man's 
shoulder  and  began  hopping  forward,  and  the 
light  threw  huge,  grotesque,  strangely  moving 
shadows  on  the  wall  ahead  of  them.  Dick  ran 
after  him,  crowding  on  his  heels  and  shouting 
meaningless  hopes.  Abruptly  they  came  to  a 
right-angle  drift,  and  then,  but  a  few  yards  down 


THE  BLACK  DEATH  69 

it,  they  discovered  an  upraise,  crude  and  uncared- 
for,  but  climbing  into  the  higher  darkness,  and 
down  this  there  streamed  fresh  air. 

It  was  such  a  one  as  prospectors  make,  having 
here  and  there  a  pole  with  cleats  to  serve  as  a 
ladder,  then  ascending  at  an  incline  which,  though 
difficult,  was  not  impossible,  and  again  reverting 
to  rocky  footholds  at  the  sides.  Up  this  Dick 
boosted  his  partner,  thrusting  a  shoulder  beneath 
his  haunches  and  straining  upward  with  the  exul- 
tation of  reaction.  They  were  saved!  He  knew 
it!  The  fresh  air  told  that  story  to  their  ex- 
perienced nostrils.  Up,  up,  up  they  clambered 
for  a  long  slanting  distance  and  then  fell  out  on 
the  floor  of  another  drift,  at  whose  end  was  a 
shadowy  light.  Again  they  hobbled  down  a  long 
length,  ever  approaching  their  goal.  Bill  stopped 
and  leaned  against  the  side  wall  and  voiced  his 
exultation. 

"  I  know  where  we  are,"  he  exclaimed.  "  This 
is  the  blacksmiths'  tunnel.  They  made  that  up- 
raise following  the  ore,  and  that's  why  the  mine 
was  opened  for  the  second  time  here.  They 
didn't  complete  the  plans  because  they  knew  the 
old  work  was  useless.  Dick,  we've  been  through 
some  pretty  hard  times  together  and  had  some 
narrow  shaves;  but  I  don't  care  for  many  more 


70  THE  PLUNDERER 

like  that !  Come  on.  Help  me  out.  I  want  you 
to  take  a  look  and  see  if  my  head  is  any  whiter 
than  it  was  at  nine  o'clock  this  mornin'  when  we 
went  into  that  other  hole." 


CHAPTER  V 

THE    AGED    ENGINEER 

THE  sunlight  was  good  to  see  again — good 
as  only  sunlight  can  be  when  men  have 
not  expected  ever  again  to  be  enlivened 
by  its  glory.  They  were  astonished  at  the  short- 
ness of  the  time  of  their  imprisonment.  They  had 
lived  years  in  dread  thought,  and  but  a  few  hours 
in  reality.  They  had  suffered  for  the  spans  of 
lives  to  find  that  the  clock  had  imperturbably 
registered  brief  intervals.  They  had  played  the 
gamut  of  dread,  terror,  and  anguish,  to  learn  how 
trivial,  after  all,  was  the  completed  score. 

"  I  think  that  will  do,"  said  Dick,  with  a  sigh 
of  relief,  as  he  straightened  up  from  bandaging 
Bill's  leg.  "  The  stitches  probably  hurt  some, 
but  aside  from  a  day's  stiffness  I  don't  think 
you  will  ever  know  it  happened." 

"Won't  eh?"  rumbled  the  patient.  "Sure, 
the  leg's  all  right;  but  it  ain't  bruised  limbs  a  man 
remembers.  They  heal.  You  can  see  the  scars 

71 


72  THE  PLUNDERER 

on  a  man's  legs,  but  only  the  Lord  Almighty  can 
see  those  on  his  mind,  and  they're  the  only  ones 
that  last.  Dick,  now  that  it's  all  over,  I  ain't 
ashamed  to  tell  you  that  there  was  quite  a  long 
spell  down  there  underground  when  I  thought 
over  a  heap  of  things  I  might  have  done  different 
if  I'd  had  a  chance  to  do  'em  over  again.  And, 
boy,  I  thought  quite  a  little  bit  about  you!  It 
didn't  seem  right  that  a  young  fellow  like  you, 
with  so  much  to  live  for,  should  be  snuffed  out 
down  there  in  that  black  place,  where  the  whole 
mountain  acted  as  if  it  was  chasin'  us,  step  by 
step,  to  wipe  us  off  the  slate." 

He  stood  on  his  feet  and  limped  across  the 
room  to  his  coat  in  an  effort  to  recover  himself, 
and  Dick,  more  stirred  than  he  cared  to  admit 
by  the  affection  in  his  voice,  tramped  out  to  the 
little  porch  in  front  and  pretended  to  whistle  a 
tune,  that  proved  tuneless.  He  looked  at  the 
little  valley  around  the  shoulder  of  the  mountain 
at  the  head  of  the  ravine,  which  they  had  so  care- 
lessly invaded  that  morning,  and  shuddered. 
Inside  he  heard  Bill  moving  around,  and  then 
after  a  time  his  steps  advancing  stiffly,  and  turned 
to  see  him  coming  out. 

"  I  think,"  he  said  smiling,  "  that  we're 
entitled  to  a  rest  for  to-day.  By  to-morrow  you'll 


THE  AGED  ENGINEER  73 

be  all  right  again,  unless  I'm  mistaken.  Let's  put 
in  the  day  looking  over  these  old  records." 

Bill  grinned  whimsically  and  assented.  He 
could  keep  quiet  when  he  had  to;  but  the  day 
following  found  him  again  restlessly  investigat- 
ing anything  that  seemed  worth  the  trouble  and 
the  afternoon  saw  him  standing  looking  upward 
toward  the  same  valley  of  dread. 

"  iVe  got  over  it  a  little,"  he  said  to  the 
younger  man,  "  and  do  you  know  I'm  right  curi- 
ous to  go  over  there  and  see  how  big  that  rock 
was  that  tumbled  into  the  mouth  of  the  old  shaft. 
Want  to  come  along?  " 

Dick  had  sustained  that  same  curiosity,  so 
together  they  made  their  way  to  the  beginning 
of  the  previous  day's  disaster.  They  chilled 
when  they  saw  how  effectually  they  had  been 
caught;  for  the  bowlder  completely  filled  the 
entrance  to  the  shaft  and  would  have  proved  a 
hopeless  trap  had  they  tried  to  escape  by  burrow- 
ing around  its  edge.  It  rested,  as  they  had  dis- 
covered, on  solid  rock,  and  its  course  down  the 
hillside  was  clearly  marked. 

"  What  gets  me,"  said  the  veteran  miner,  "  is 
what  could  have  started  it.  I  noticed  it  up 
there  when  we  went  in.  It  was  sort  of  poised  on 


74  THE  PLUNDERER 

that  little  ledge  you  see,  and  it  didn't  have  to  roll 
more  than  thirty  feet." 

He  began  to  climb  up  the  bowlder's  well- 
defined  path,  and  suddenly  called  to  his  partner 
with  a  hoarse  shout,  needlessly  loud. 

"  Come  up  here,"  he  said.  "  That  bowlder 
never  started  itself !  Some  one  helped  it.  What 
do  you  think  of  that?" 

Dick  hastily  climbed  up  to  his  side  and  looked. 
The  rock  around  was  bare  of  growth  or  cover- 
ing, so  that  no  footprints  could  be  discerned;  but 
a  rock  rested  there  that  had  plainly  been  used  as 
a  fulcrum.  The  surface  beneath  it  was  weather 
beaten  and  devoid  of  moisture,  which  indicated 
that  it  had  lain  there  but  a  short  time,  prob- 
ably only  from  the  time  of  its  mission  on  the  pre- 
ceding day.  They  found  themselves  standing  up 
and  staring  around  at  the  surrounding  hills  as  if 
seeking  sight  of  the  man  who  had  attempted  to 
murder  them. 

"We'll  find  out  about  this!"  Bill  exclaimed. 
"  Good  thing  we  know  enough  to  look." 

He  limped  to  the  edge  of  the  barren  spot  and 
began  to  circle  around  its  edge,  while  Dick  did 
likewise,  following  his  example.  They  found  a 
footprint  at  last  and  took  the  trail.  It  did  not 
lead  them  far  before  they  came  to  a  path  on  top 


THE  AGED  ENGINEER  75 

of  the  hill  that  was  so  well  used  that  any  attempt 
to  follow  it  was  useless;  but,  intent  on  seeing 
where  it  led,  they  walked  along  it  as  it  led  straight 
away  toward  the  timber.  Scarcely  inside  the  cool 
shadows  of  the  tamaracks  they  paused  and 
looked  at  each  other  understandingly;  for  thrown 
carelessly  into  a  clump  of  laurel  was  a  long, 
freshly  cut  sapling,  that  had  been  used  as  a  lever. 
They  recovered  it  from  its  resting  place  and 
inspected  it.  There  was  no  doubt  whatever  that 
it  had  been  the  instrument  of  motion.  Its 
scarred  end,  its  length,  and  all,  told  that  the  man 
who  had  used  it  had  carried  it  this  far  to  discard 
it,  believing  his  murderous  work  done. 

"  I  noticed  that  rock,  as  I  said  before," 
declared  Bill.  "  You  noticed  how  round  it  was 
on  one  side?  Well,  a  man  could  take  this  lever, 
and  by  teetering  on  it  until  he  got  it  in  motion, 
finally  upset  it.  The  chances  were  a  hundred  to 
one  it  would  land  in  the  mouth  of  the  shaft.  And 
its  a  cinch,  it  seems  to  me,  he  wouldn't  do  that  for 
fun." 

Dick  shook  his  head  gravely. 

"  But  who  could  it  be?  "  he  insisted.  "  Who 
is  there  that  could  want  us  out  of  the  way  badly 
enough  to  murder  us?  No  one  here  knows  or 
cares  a  continental  about  us !  It  seems  incredible. 


76  THE  PLUNDERER 

It  must  have  been  sheer  carelessness  of  some  rest- 
less loafer  who  wanted  to  see  the  rock  roll." 

Yet  they  knew  that  the  theory  was  scarcely  ten- 
able. They  walked  farther  along  the  path  and 
found  that  it  was  one  used  by  workmen,  evidently, 
leading  at  last  down  the  steep  mountain  side  and 
across  to  the  Rattler.  They  surmised  that  it 
must  be  one  made  by  the  timber  cutters  for  the 
mine,  and  learned,  in  later  months,  that  the  sur- 
mise was  correct. 

"  It  makes  one  thing  certain,"  Bill  declared 
that  evening  when,  candidly  discouraged,  they  sat 
on  the  little  porch  in  front  of  the  office  they  had 
made  their  home  and  discussed  the  day's  findings. 
"  And  that  is  that  until  we  get  a  force  to  work 
here,  if  we  ever  do,  it  ain't  a  right  healthy  place 
for  us.  Of  course  with  a  gang  of  men  around 
there  wouldn't  be  a  ghost  of  a  chance  for  any 
enemy  to  get  us ;  but  until  then  we'd  better  watch 
out  all  the  time.  I  begin  to  believe  that  about 
everything  that's  happened  to  us  here  has  been 
the  work  of  somebody  who  ain't  right  fond  of 
us.  Wish  we  could  catch  him  at  it  once !  " 

There  was  a  grim  undercurrent  in  his  wish 
that  left  nothing  to  words.  They  remembered 
that  in  all  the  time  since  their  arrival  they  had 
seen  no  other  human  being,  the  Rattler  men  hav- 


THE  AGED  ENGINEER  77 

ing  left  them  as  severely  alone  as  if  they  had  been 
under  quarantine. 

In  the  stillness  of  twilight  they  heard  the  slow, 
soft  padding  of  a  man's  feet  laboriously  climbing 
the  hill,  and  listened  intently  at  the  unusual  sound. 

"Wonder  who  that  is,"  speculated  Bill,  lean- 
ing forward  and  staring  at  the  dim  trail. 
"  Looks  like  a  dwarf  from  here.  Some  old  man 
of  the  mountain  coming  up  to  drive  us  off !  " 

"  Hello,"  hailed  a  shrill,  quavering  voice. 
"  Be  you  the  bosses?" 

"  We  are,"  Dick  shouted,  in  reply,  "  Come 
on  up." 

The  visitor  came  halting  up  the  slope,  and  they 
discerned  that  he  was  lame  and  carrying  a  roll  of 
blankets.  He  paused  before  them,  panting,  and 
then  dropped  the  roll  from  his  back,  and  sat 
down  on  the  edge  of  the  porch  with  his  head 
turned  to  face  them.  He  was  white  headed  and 
old,  and  seemed  to  have  exhausted  his  surplus 
strength  in  his  haste  to  reach  them  before  dark- 
ness. 

"  I'm  Bells  Park,"  he  said.  "  Bells  Park,  the 
engineer.  Maybe  you've  heard  of  me?  Eh? 
What?  No?  Well,  I  used  to  have  the  engines 
here  at  the  Cross  eight  or  ten  years  ago,  and 
I've  come  to  take  'em  again.  When  do  I  go  to 


78  THE  PLUNDERER 

work?  They  hates  me  around  here.  They 
drove  me  out  once.  I  said  I'd  come  back.  I'm 
here.  I'm  a  union  man,  but  I  tell  'em  what  I 
think  of  'em,  and  it  don't  set  well.  When  did 
you  say  I  go  to  work?  " 

"  I'm  afraid  you  don't  go,"  Dick  answered 
regretfully. 

The  Cross,  so  far  as  he  could  conjecture, 
would  never  again  ring  with  the  sounds  of  throb- 
bing engines.  Already  he  was  more  than  half- 
convinced  that  he  should  write  to  Sloan  and  reject 
.his  kindly  offer  of  support.  "  We've  been  here 
but  a  week,  but  it  doesn't  look  promising  to  us." 

"Well,  then  you're  a  pair  of  fools!"  came 
the  disrespectful  and  irascible  retort.  "  They 
told  me  down  in  Goldpan  that  some  miners  had 
come  to  open  the  Cross  up  again.  You're  not 
miners.  I've  hoofed  it  all  the  way  up  here  for 
nothin'." 

The  partners  looked  at  each  other,  and 
grinned  at  the  old  man's  tirade.  He  went  on 
without  noticing  them,  speaking  of  himself  in  the 
third  person: 

"  I  can  stay  here  to-night  somewhere,  can't  I? 
Bells  Park  is  askin'  it.  Bells  Park  that  used  to 
be  chief  in  the  Con  and  Virginia,  and  once  had 
his  own  cabin  here — cabin  that  was  a  home  till 


THE  AGED  ENGINEER  79 

his  wife  went  away  on  the  long  trip.  She's  asleep 
up  there  under  the  cross  mark  on  the  hill.  Bells 
Park  as  came  back  because  he  wanted  to  be  near 
where  she  was  put  away!  She  was  the  best 
woman  that  ever  lived.  I'm  looking  for  my  old 
job  back.  I  can  sleep  here,  can't  I?  " 

His  querulous  question  was  more  of  a  chal- 
lenge than  a  request,  and  Dick  hastened  to  assure 
him  that  he  could  unroll  his  blankets  in  a  bunk 
in  the  rambling  old  structure  that  loomed  dim, 
silent,  and  ghostly,  on  the  hill  beyond  where  they 
were  seated.  His  pity  and  hospitality  led  him 
farther. 

"  Had  your  supper?  "  he  asked. 

Bells  Park  shook  his  head  in  negation. 

"  Then  you  can  share  with  us,"  Dick  said,  get- 
ting to  his  feet  and  entering  the  cabin  from  which 
in  a  few  moments  came  a  rattle  of  fire  being 
replenished,  a  coffee-pot  being  refilled,  and  the 
crisp,  frying  note  of  sizzling  bacon  and  eggs. 

'Who  might  that  young  feller  be?"  asked 
the  engineer,  glowering  with  sudden  curiosity, 
after  his  long  silence,  into  the  face  of  the  grizzled 
old  prospector,  who,  in  the  interim,  had  sat 
quietly. 

"Him?  That's  Dick  Townsend,  half-owner 
in  the  mine,"  Bill  replied. 


8o  THE  PLUNDERER 

"Half  owner?  Cookin'  for  me?  Why  don't 
you  do  it?  What  right  have  you  got  sittin'  here 
on  your  long  haunches  and  lettin'  a  boss  do  the 
work?  Hey?  Who  are  you?" 

"  I'm  his  superintendent,"  grinned  Bill,  appre- 
ciating the  joke  of  being  superintendent  of  a  mine 
where  no  one  worked. 

"Oh!"  said  the  engineer.  And  then,  after 
a  pause,  as  if  readjusting  all  these  conditions  to 
meet  his  approval:  "Say,  he's  all  right,  ain't 
he!" 

'  You  bet  your  life !  "  came  the  emphatic 
response. 

The  applicant  said  no  more  until  after  he  had 
gone  into  the  cabin  and  eaten  his  fill,  after  which 
he  insisted  on  clearing  away  the  dishes,  and  then 
rejoined  them  in  a  less-tired  mood.  He  squatted 
down  on  the  edge  of  the  porch,  where  they  sat 
staring  at  the  shadows  of  the  glorious  night,  and 
appeared  to  be  thoughtful  for  a  time,  while  they 
were  silently  amused. 

"You're  thinkin'  it's  no  good,  are  you?"  he 
suddenly  asked,  brandishing  his  pipe  at  Dick. 
"  Well,  I  said  you  were  a  fool.  Take  it  kindly, 
young  feller.  I'm  an  old  man,  but  I  know. 
You've  been  good  to  me.  I  didn't  come  here  to 
butt  my  nose  in,  but  I  know  her  better  than  you 


THE  AGED  ENGINEER  81 

do.  Say!  "  He  pivoted  on  his  hips,  and  tapped 
an  emphatic  forefinger  on  the  warped-  planks 
beneath  in  punctuation.  "  There  never  was  a  set 
of  owners  shell-gamed  like  them  that  had  the 
Croix  d'Or !  There  never  was  a  good  property  so 
badly  handled.  Two  superintendents  are  retired 
and  Uvin'  on  the  money  they  stole  from  her.  One 
millman's  bought  himself  a  hotel  in  Seattle 
with  what  he  got  away  with.  There  was  enough 
ore  packed  off  in  dinner-pails  from  the  Bonanza 
Chute  to  heel  half  the  men  who  tapped  it.  They 
were  always  lookin'  for  more  of  'em.  They 
passed  through  a  lead  of  ore  that  would  have 
paid  expenses,  on  the  six-hundred-foot  level,  and 
lagged  it  rather  than  hoist  it  out.  I  know !  I've 
seen  the  cars  come  up  out  of  the  shaft  with  a  man 
standin'  on  the  hundred  foot  to  slush  'em  over 
with  muddy  sump  water  so  the  gold  wouldn't 
show  until  the  car  men  could  swipe  the  stuff  and 
dump  it  out  of  the  tram  to  be  picked  up  at  night. 
It  ain't  the  rich  streaks  that  pays.  It's  the  four- 
foot  ledge  that  runs  profit  from  two  bits  to  a 
couple  of  dollars  a  ton.  That's  what  showed  on 
the  six-hundred  level.  Get  it?" 

The  partners  by  this  time  were  leaning  eagerly 
forward,  half-inclined  to  believe  all  that  had 
been  told  them,  yet  willing  to  discount  the  gab- 


82  THE  PLUNDERER 

bling  of  the  old  man  and  find  content.  Until  bed- 
time he  went  on,  and  they  listened  to  him  the  next 
morning,  when  the  slow  dawn  crept  up,  and 
decided  to  take  the  plunge.  And  so  it  was  that 
Dick  wrote  a  long  statement  of  the  findings  to 
his  backer  in  New  York  and  told  him  that  he  was 
going  to  chance  it  and  open  the  Croix  d'Or  again 
until  he  was  satisfied,  either  that  it  would  not  pay 
to  work,  or  would  merit  larger  expenditure. 

Once  again  the  smoke  belched  from  the  hoist- 
ing house  of  the  Cross,  and  the  throb  of  the 
pumps  came,  hollow  and  clanking,  from  the  shaft 
below.  A  stream  of  discolored  water  swirled 
into  the  creek  from  the  waste  pipes,  and  the  rain- 
bow trout,  affrighted  and  disgusted,  forsook  its 
reaches  and  sought  the  pools  of  the  river  into 
which  it  emptied. 

Slowly  they  gained  on  its  depths,  and  each  day 
the  mark  swam  lower,  and  the  newly  oiled  cage 
waited  for  its  freshly  stretched  cable,  one  which 
had  happened  to  be  coiled  in  the  store-house. 
The  compressor  shivered  and  vibrated  as  the 
pistons  drove  clean,  sweet  air  through  the  long- 
disused  pipes,  and  at  last  the  partners  knew  they 
could  reach  the  anticipated  six-hundred-foot  level 
and  form  their  own  conclusions. 

"  Well,  here  goes,"   said  Bill,   grinning  from 


THE  AGED  ENGINEER  83 

under  his  sou'wester  as  they  entered  the  cage 
with  lamps  in  hand.  "  We'll  see  how  she  looks 
if  the  air  pipes  aren't  broken." 

They  saw  the  slimy  black  sides  of  the  shaft 
slip  past  them  as  Bells  Park  dropped  them  into 
the  depths,  and  felt  the  cage  slow  down  as  he 
saw  his  pointer  above  the  drum  indicate  the 
approach  of  the  six-hundred-foot  level.  They 
stepped  out  cautiously,  whiffed  the  air,  and  knew 
that  the  pipes,  which  had  been  protected  by  the 
water,  were  intact,  and  that  they  had  no  need  to 
fear  foul  air.  The  rusted  rails,  slime-covered, 
beneath  their  rubber  boots,  glowed  a  vivid  red 
as  they  inspected  the  timbering  above,  and  saw 
that  the  sparse  stulls,  caps,  and  columns  were 
still  holding  their  own,  and  that  the  heavy  por- 
phyritic  formation  would  scarcely  have  given  had 
the  timbers  rotted  away.  Dank,  glistening  walls 
and  a  tremulous  waving  blackness  were  ahead  of 
them  as  they  cautiously  invaded  the  long-deserted 
precincts,  scraping  and  striking  here  and  there 
with  their  prospector's  picks  in  search  of  the  lost 
lead. 

"  About  two  hundred  feet  from  the  shaft, 
Bells  said,"  Dick  commented.  "And  this  must  be 
about  the  place  where  they  cut  through  pay  ore 


84  THE  PLUNDERER 

in  search  of  another  lobe  of  the  Bonanza  Chute. 
What  thieves  they  were!  " 

He  suddenly  became  aware  that  his  companion 
was  not  with  him,  and  whirled  round.  Back  of 
him  shone  a  tiny  spark  of  flaring  light,  striving 
to  illumine  the  solid  blackness.  He  paused 
expectantly,  and  a  voice  came  bellowing  through 
the  dark: 

"  Here  it  is.  The  old  man's  right,  I  think. 
This  looks  like  ore  to  me." 

Dick  hastened  back,  and  assisted  while  they 
broke  away  the  looser  pieces  of  green  rock,  glow- 
ing dully,  and  filled  their  sample  sacks. 

Three  hours  later  they  stood  over  the  scales 
in  the  log  assay-house  above,  and  congratulated 
each  other. 

"  It'll  pay!  "  Dick  declared  gleefully.  "  Not 
much,  but  enough  to  justify  going  on  with  the 
work.  I  am  glad  I  wrote  Sloan  that  I  should 
draw  on  him,  and  now  we'll  go  ahead  and  hire  a 
small  gang  to  set  the  mill  and  the  Cross  in 
shape." 

They  were  like  boys  when  they  crossed  to  the 
engine  house  and  told  the  news  to  the  hard- 
worked  engineer,  who  chuckeled  softly  and 
asserted  that  he  had  "  told  them  so." 

"  Now,  the  best  way  for  you  to  get  a  gang 


THE  AGED  ENGINEER  85 

around  here,"  he  said,  "  is  to  go  down  to  Gold- 
pan  and  tell  '  The  Lily  '  you  want  her  to  pass  the 
word,  or  stick  a  sign  up  in  her  place  saying  what 
men,  and  how  many,  you  want.  ' 

"  Sounds  like  a  nice  name,"  Mathews  com- 
mented. 

"  The  Lily?  "  questioned  Dick,  anxious  as  to 
who  this  camp  character  could  be. 

"  Sure,"  the  engineer  rasped,  as  if  annoyed  by 
their  ignorance.  "Ain't  you  never  heard  of  her? 
Well,  her  right  name,  so  they  tell,  is  Lily  Mere- 
dith. She  owns  the  place  called  the  High  Light. 
Everybody  knows  her.  She's  square,  even  if 
she  does  run  a  dance  hall  and  rents  a  gamblin' 
joint.  She  don't  stand  for  nothin'  crooked,  Lily 
don't.  She  pays  her  way,  and  asks  no  favors. 
Go  down  and  tell  her  you  want  men.  They  all 
go  there,  some  time  or  another." 

He  stooped  over  to  inspect  the  fire  under  the 
small  boiler  he  was  working,  and  straightened  up 
before  he  went  on.  Through  the  black  coating 
on  his  face,  he  appeared  thoughtful. 

"  Best  time  to  see  The  Lily  and  get  action  is  at 
night.  All  the  day-shift  men  hang  around  the 
camp  then,  and,  besides  that,  they've  got  a  new 
batch  of  placer  ground  about  a  mile  and  a  half 


86  THE  PLUNDERER 

over  the  other  side,  and  lots  of  them  fellers  come 
over.  Want  to  go  to-day?  " 

The  partners  looked  at  each  other,  as  if  con- 
sulting, and  then  Dick  said:  "Yes.  I  think  the 
sooner  the  better." 

Bells  Park  pulled  the  visor  of  his  greasy  little 
cap  lower  over  his  eyes,  and  stepped  to  the  door. 

"  Come  out  here  onto  the  yard,"  he  said,  and 
they  followed.  "  Go  down  to  the  Rattler,  then 
bear  off  to  the  right.  The  trail  starts  in  back  of 
the  last  shanty  on  the  right-hand  side.  You  see 
that  gap  up  yonder?  Not  the  big  one,  but  the 
narrow  one."  He  pointed  with  a  grimy  hand. 
"  Well,  you  go  right  through  that  and  drop 
down,  and  you'll  see  the  camp  below  you.  It's 
a  stiff  climb,  but  the  trail's  good,  and  it's  just 
about  two  miles  over  there.  It's  so  plain  you 
can  make  it  home  by  moonlight." 

Without  further  ceremony  or  advice,  he 
returned  into  the  boiler-room,  and  the  partners, 
after  but  slight  preparations,  began  their  journey. 

It  was  a  stiff  climb !  The  sun  had  set,  and  the 
long  twilight  was  giving  way  to  darkness  when 
they  came  down  the  trail  into  the  upper  end  of 
the  camp.  Some  embryo  artist  was  painfully 
overworking  an  accordion,  while  a  dog  rendered 
melancholy  by  the  unmusical  noise,  occasionally 


THE  AGED  ENGINEER  87 

accompanied  him  with  prolonged  howls.  A 
belated  ore  trailer,  with  the  front  wagon  creak- 
ing under  the  whine  of  the  brakes  and  the  chains 
of  the  six  horses  clanking,  lurched  down  from  a 
road  on  the  far  side  of  the  long,  straggling  street, 
and  passed  them,  the  horses'  heads  hanging  as  if 
overwork  had  robbed  them  of  all  stable-going 
spirit  of  eagerness. 

The  steady,  booming  "  clump ety-clump ! 
clumpety-clump !  "  of  a  stamp-mill  on  a  shoulder 
of  a  hill  high  above  the  camp,  drowned  the  whir 
and  chirp  of  night  insects,  and  from  the  second 
story  of  a  house  they  passed  they  heard  the  crude 
banging  of  a  piano,  and  a  woman's  strident  voice 
wailing,  "  She  may  have  seen  better  da-a-ys," 
with  a  mighty  effort  to  be  pathetic. 

"Seems  right  homelike!  Don't  it?"  Bill 
grinned  and  chuckled.  "  That's  one  right  nice 
thing  about  minin'.  You  can  go  from  Dawson  to 
Chiapas,  and  a  camp's  a  camp!  Always  the 
same.  I  reckon  if  you  went  up  the  street  far 
enough  you'd  find  a  Miner's  Home  Saloon, 
maybe  a  Northern  Light  or  two,  and  you  can 
bet  on  there  bein'  a  First  Class." 

The  High  Light  proved  to  be  the  most  pre- 
tentious resort  in  Goldpan.  For  one  thing  it  had 
plate-glass  windows  and  a  gorgeous  sign  painted 


88  THE  PLUNDERER 

thereon.  Its  double  doors  were  wide,  and  at  the 
front  was  a  bar  with  a  brass  rail  that,  by  its  very 
brightness,  told  only  too  plainly  that  the  even- 
ing's trade  had  not  commenced.  Two  barten- 
ders, one  with  a  huge  crest  of  hair  waved  back, 
and  the  other  with  his  parted  in  the  middle,  plas- 
tered low  and  curled  at  the  ends,  betokened 
diverse  taste  in  barbering.  A  Chinese  was  giving 
the  last  polish  to  a  huge  pile  of  glasses,  thick  and 
heavy. 

On  the  other  side  of  the  room,  behind  a  rou- 
lette wheel,  a  man  who  looked  more  like  a  coun- 
try parson  than  a  gambler  sat  reading  a  thumbed 
copy  of  Taine's  "  English  Literature."  Three 
faro  layouts  stretched  themselves  in  line  as  if 
watching  for  newcomers,  and  in  the  rear  a  man 
was  lighting  the  coal-oil  lamps  of  the  dance  hall. 
It  was  separated  from  the  front  part  of  the  house 
by  an  iron  rail,  and  had  boxes  completely  around 
an  upper  tier  and  supported  by  log  pillars 
beneath,  and  a  tiny  stage  with  a  badly  worn  drop 
curtain. 

"  Is  the  boss  here?"  Bill  asked,  pausing  in 
front  of  the  man  with  a  wave. 

"  Who  do  you  mean — Lily?  "  was  the  familiar 
reply. 

"  Yes." 


THE  AGED  ENGINEER  89 

"  I  think  she's  over  helpin'  nurse  the  Widder 
Flannery's  sick  kids  this  afternoon.  They've  got 
chicken  pox.  Might  go  over  there  and  see  her 
if  you're  in  a  rush." 

"  We  didn't  say  we  wanted  to  borrow  money," 
Bill  retorted  to  the  jocular  latter  part  of  the  bar- 
tender's speech.  "  What  time  will  she  be  here?  " 

"  About  ten,  I  guess,"  was  the  more  courteous 
reply. 

The  partners  walked  out  and  past  the  row  of 
buildings  until  they  came  to  a  general  store, 
where  they  occupied  themselves  in  making  out  an 
order  for  supplies  and  arranging  for  their  deliv- 
ery on  the  following  day.  The  trader  was  a 
loquacious  individual  with  the  unmistakable 
"  Yankee  "  twang  and  nasal  whine  of  the  man 
from  that  important  speck  of  the  United  States 
called  New  England. 

When  they  again  turned  into  the  street,  the 
long  twilight  had  been  replaced  by  night,  and  on 
the  tops  of  the  high  peaks  to  the  westward  the 
light  of  the  full  moon  was  beginning  to  paint  the 
chill  white  with  a  shining  glow.  The  street  was 
filled  with  men,  most  of  them  scorning  the  nar- 
row board  walks  and  traversing  the  roadway. 
A  pandemonium  of  sound  was  robbing  the  night 
of  peace  through  music,  of  assorted  character, 


90  THE  PLUNDERER 

which  boiled  forth  from  open  doors  in  discor- 
dant business  rivalry,  but  underneath  it  all  was 
the  steady,  dull  monotone  of  the  stamp-mill, 
remorselessly  beating  the  ore  as  if  in  eternal 
industry. 

"  Hardly  know  the  place  now,  eh?  "  Bill  said, 
as  they  entered  the  open  doors  of  the  High 
Light.  It  certainly  keeps  gettin'  more  homelike. 
Camp  must  be  makin'  money,  eh?" 

Dick  did  not  answer.  He  was  staring  at  a 
woman  who  stood  at  the  lower  end  of  the  bar 
outside,  and  talking  to  a  man  with  a  medicine  case 
in  his  hand.  He  surmised  that  she  must  be  The 
Lily,  and  was  astonished.  He  had  expected  the 
customary  brazen  appearance  of  other  camp 
women  he  had  known  in  his  years  of  wandering; 
the  hard-faced,  combatative  type  produced  by 
greed.  Instead,  he  saw  a  woman  of  perhaps 
thirty  years  of  age,  or  in  that  vague  boundary 
between  thirty  and  thirty-five. 

She  was  dressed  in  a  short  skirt,  wore  a  spot- 
less shirt  waist  over  an  exceptionally  graceful 
pair  of  shoulders,  and  her  hair,  neatly  coiled  in 
heavy  bronze  folds,  was  surmounted  by  a  white 
hat  of  the  frontier  type,  dented  in  regulation 
form  with  four  hollows. 

From  the  hat  to  the  high  tan  boots,  she  was 


THE  AGED  ENGINEER  91 

neat  and  womanly;  yet  it  was  not  this  that 
attracted  him  so  much  as  her  profile.  From  the 
straight  brow,  down  over  the  high,  fine  nose  and 
the  firm  lips  to  the  firmer  chin,  the  face  was 
perfect. 

As  if  sensing  his  inspection,  she  turned  toward 
him,  and  met  his  wondering  eyes.  Her  appraise- 
ment was  calm,  repressed,  and  cold.  Her  face 
gave  him  the  impression  that  she  had  forgotten 
how  to  smile.  Townsend  advanced  toward  her, 
certain  that  she  must  be  the  proprietress  of  the 
High  Light. 

"You  are  Miss  Meredith?"  he  interrogated, 
as  he  halted  in  front  of  her. 

"  Mrs.  Meredith,"  she  corrected,  still  unbend- 
ing, and  looking  at  him  a  question  as  to  his 
business. 

A  forgotten  courtesy  impelled  him  to  remove 
his  hat  as  he  introduced  himself,  but  Mathews 
did  not  follow  it  when  he  was  introduced,  and 
reached  out  and  caught  her  competent  hand  with 
a  hard  grip.  Dick  explained  his  errand,  feeling, 
all  the  time  under  that  steady  look,  that  he  was 
being  measured. 

"  Oh,  yes,  they'll  be  all  right  by  to-morrow, 
Lily,"  the  doctor  interrupted.  "  Excuse  me  for 


92  THE  PLUNDERER 

being  so  abrupt,  but  I  must  go  now.  Good- 
night." 

"  Good-night,"  she  answered,  and  then:  "  I'll 
be  up  there  at  three  o'clock  to-morrow  afternoon. 
Ah,  you  were  saying  you  wanted " 

She  had  turned  to  the  partners  again  with  her 
unfinished  question  leading  them  on  to  state  their 
mission. 

"  Men.  Here's  a  list,"  Dick  answered,  hand- 
ing her  a  memorandum  calling  for  GO  many  mill- 
men,  so  many  drill  runners,  swampers,  car  hand- 
lers, and  so  forth;  in  all,  a  list  of  twenty  odd. 

"Who  told  you  to  come  here?"  She  ex- 
ploded the  question  as  if  it  were  vital. 

"Park.      Bells   Park." 

She  laughed  mirthlessly  between  lips  that  did 
not  smile  and  regular,  white  teeth.  But  her 
laugh  belied  her  lack  of  sympathy. 

"  Poor  old  Bells !  "  she  said,  with  a  touch  of 
sadness  in  her  voice.  "Poor  old  fool!  I  tried 
to  keep  him  from  gambling  when  he  had  money, 
and  he  went  broke,  like  all  the  other  fools.  But 
he  loved  his  wife.  He  made  her  happy.  Some 
one  in  this  world  must  be  happy.  So  he  came 
back,  did  he?  And  is  up  there  at  the  Cross? 
Well,  he's  a  faithful  man.  I'm  not  an  employ- 
ment agency,  but  maybe  I  can  help  you.  I  would 


THE  AGED  ENGINEER  93 

do  it  for  Bells.  I  like  him.  Good  men  are 
scarce.  The  bums  and  loafers  are  always  easy  to 
get.  There  isn't  a  mine  around  here  that  isn't 
looking  for  good  men,  since  they  made  that  dis- 
covery over  in  the  flat.  Most  of  them  broke  to 
the  placer  ground.  Wages  are  nothing  when 
there's  a  chance  for  better." 

She  had  not  looked  at  Dick  as  she  talked,  but 
had  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  paper,  though  not  seem- 
ing to  scan  its  contents.  The  room  was  crowded 
with  men  and  filled  with  a  confused  volume  of 
sound  as  she  spoke,  the  click  and  whir  of  the 
wheel,  the  monotonous  voice  of  the  student — 
turned  gambler — calling  "  Single  O  and  the 
house  wins.  All  down?"  the  sharp  snap 
of  the  case-keeper's  buttons  before  the  faro  lay- 
outs, the  screech  of  the  orchestra  in  the  dance 
hall,  and  the  heavy  shuffling  of  feet;  yet  her 
words  and  intonations  were  distinct. 

"  We  would  like  to  get  them  as  soon  as  we 
can,"  Dick  answered.  "  We  have  unwatered  the 
main  shaft  and " 

From  the  dance  hall  in  the  rear  there  came  a 
shrill,  high  shriek,  oaths,  shouts,  and  the  orches- 
tra stopped  playing.  Men  jumped  to  their  feet 
from  the  faro  layouts,  and  then,  mob-like,  began 
to  surge  toward  the  door,  while  in  the  lead, 


94  THE  PLUNDERER 

uttering  scream  on  scream,  ran  one  of  the  dance- 
hall  girls  with  her  gaudy  dress  bursting  into 
enveloping  flame.  She  had  the  terror  of  a  panic- 
stricken  animal  flying  into  the  danger  of  the  open 
air  to  die. 

As  if  springing  forward  from  live  ground, 
Mathews  leaped  into  her  path,  and  caught  her  in 
his  arms.  He  jammed  her  forward  ahead  of 
him,  taking  no  pains  to  shield  her  body  save  with 
his  bent  arm,  and  seized  the  cover  of  the  roulette 
wheel,  which  lay  neatly  folded  on  the  end  of  the 
bar. 

"  Give  me  room!  "  he  bellowed,  in  his  heavy, 
thunderous  voice.  "  Stop  'em,  Dick!  For  God's 
sake,  stop  'em !  " 

Dick  leaped  in  among  the  crowd  that  was 
madly  stampeding — women  with  faces  whose 
terror  showed  through  masks  of  rouge,  shrieking, 
men  who  cursed,  trampled,  and  elbowed  their 
way  to  the  outer  air,  and  the  wild-eyed  musicians 
seeking  to  escape  from  a  fire-trap.  Dick  struck 
right  and  left,  and  in  the  little  space  created  Bill 
swathed  the  girl  in  the  cover,  smothering  the 
flames.  And  all  the  time  he  shouted: 

"Don't  run.  What's  the  matter  with  you? 
Go  back  and  put  the  fire  out!  Don't  be  idiots!  " 

As  suddenly  as  it  had  commenced  the  panic 


THE  AGED  ENGINEER  95 

subsided,  and  the  tide  turned  the  other  way. 
Sobbing  women  hovered  round  the  door,  and 
men  began  to  form  a  bucket  line.  In  a  long  age 
of  five  or  ten  minutes  the  excitement  was  over, 
and  the  fire  extinguished.  The  dance-hall  floor 
was  littered  with  pieces  of  scorched  wood  torn 
bodily  from  the  boxes,  and  the  remnants  of  the 
lamp  which  had  exploded  and  caused  the  havoc 
were  being  swept  into  the  sodden,  steaming  heap 
in  the  center  of  the  room. 

Through  the  press  at  the  sides  came  The  Lily, 
who,  in  the  turmoil,  had  sought  refuge  behind 
the  bar.  The  partners,  stooping  over  the  uncon- 
scious, swaddled  figure  on  the  floor,  looked  up  at 
her,  and  Dick  saw  that  her  face  was  as  calm  and 
unemotional  as  ever. 

"  Bring  her  to  my  room,"  she  said;  "  I'll 
show  you  where  it  is.  You,  Tim,"  she  called  to 
one  of  the  bartenders,  "  go  as  quickly  as  you  can 
and  get  Doctor  Mills." 

The  partners  meekly  followed  her  lead,  paus- 
ing but  once,  when  she  turned  to  hold  up  an 
authoritative  hand  and  tell  the  curious  ones  who 
formed  a  wake  that  they  must  go  back,  or  at  least 
not  come  ahead  to  make  the  case  more  difficult. 
Mathews  carried  his  senseless  burden  as  easily 
as  if  it  were  of  no  weight,  and  even  as  they 


96  THE  PLUNDERER 

turned  up  a  hallway  leading  to  a  flight  of  stairs 
ascending  to  The  Lily's  apartments,  the  doctor 
and  bartender  came  running  to  join  them. 

Not  until  they  had  swathed  the  girl  in  cooling 
bandages  did  any  one  speak.  Then,  as  they  drew 
the  sheet  tenderly  over  her,  they  became  con- 
scious of  one  another.  As  Bill  looked  up 
through  blistered  eyelids,  exposing  a  cruelly 
scorched  face,  his  lips  broke  into  a  painful  smile. 

"  Doctor,"  The  Lily  said,  "  now  you  had  better 
care  for  this  patient." 

She  put  her  firm,  white  fingers  out,  brushed 
the  miner's  singed  hair  back  from  his  brow,  and 
said:  "I've  forgotten  your  name,  but — I  want 
to  say — you're  a  man!  " 


CHAPTER  VI 

MY    LADY    OF    THE    HORSE 

"TT  T  serves  you  right  for  bein'  so  anxious  to 

help  one  of  them  dance-hall  women;  not 

but  what  I'd  probably  'a'  done  it  myself," 

was  the  croaking,  querulous  consolation  offered 

by  Bells  Park  as  he  sat  beside  the  painly  suffering 

and  heavily  bandaged  Bill  that  night,  or  rather  in 

the  early  hours  of  the  morning,  in  the  cabin  on 

the    Cross.      "  They   ain't   no   good   except   for 

young  fools  to  gallop  around  with  over  a  floor." 

He  poured  some  more  olive  oil  over  the  ban- 
dages, and  relented  enough  to  add:  "All  but 
The  Lily,  and  she  don't  dance  with  none  of  'em. 
She's  all  right,  she  is.  Mighty  peart  looker,  too. 
None  purtier  than  Dorothy  Presby,  though." 

Dick,  looking  up  from  where  he  sat  with  his 
tired  chin  resting  on  his  tired  hands  and  elbows, 
thought  of  the  gruff  Bully  Presby  with  some 
interest. 

"  Oh,  so  the  old  Rattler  owner  has  a  daughter, 
eh?" 

97 


^  THE  PLUNDERER 

"  I  don't  mean  old  skinflint  Presby!  "  sharply 
corrected  the  engineer.  "  He  ain't  the  only 
Presby  in  this  whole  United  States,  is  he?  He 
don't  own  the  whole  world  and  the  name,  even 
if  he  thinks  he  does.  This  Presby  I'm  talkin' 
about  ain't  no  kin  of  his.  He's  too  white.  He 
owns  all  them  sawmills  on  the  other  side  of  the 
Cross  peak,  about  four  miles  from  here.  Got  a 
railroad  of  his  own.  Worth  about  a  billion,  I 
reckon." 

Dick's  momentary  interest  subsided,  but  he 
heard  the  old  man  babbling  on: 

"  I  worked  for  him  once,  when  Dorothy  was 
a  little  bit  of  a  kid.  Him  and  me  fought,  but 
he's  a  white  man.  She's  been  away  to  some  of 
those  fool  colleges  for  women  back  East,  they 
say,  for  the  last  four  or  five  years.  It  don't  do 
women  no  good  to  know  too  much.  My  wife 
couldn't  read  or  write,  and  she  was  the  best 
woman  that  ever  lived,  bar  none." 

He  looked  around  as  if  delivering  a  challenge, 
and,  finding  that  no  one  was  paying  any  attention 
to  him,  subsided,  fidgeted  fbr  a  minute,  and  then 
said  he  guessed  he'd  "  turn  in  so's  the  water 
wouldn't  gain  on  the  pumps  in  the  mornin'." 

On  the  insistent  demand  of  his  partner,  Dick 
also  retired  shortly,  and  the  cabin  on  the  hillside 


MY  LADY  OF  THE  HORSE         99 

was  dark  save  for  the  dim  light  that  glowed  in 
the  sufferer's  room. 

They  began  to  straggle  in,  the  men  wanted, 
before  the  partners  had  finished  their  breakfast 
on  the  following  morning.  Some  of  them  were 
real  miners,  and  others  were  nondescripts,  bear- 
ing out  The  Lily's  statement  that  good  men  were 
scarce,  but  all  were  hired  as  they  came,  and  the 
Croix  d'Or  began  to  thrill  with  activity. 

A  fat  cook — and  no  miner  can  explain  why  a 
camp  cook  is  always  fat — beamed  from  the  mess- 
house  door.  A  blacksmith,  accepting  the  ready 
name  of  "  Smuts,"  oiled  the  rusted  wheels  of 
his  blower,  and  swore  patiently  and  softly  at  a 
new  helper  as  he  selected  the  drills  for  sharp- 
ening. Three  Burley  drill  runners  tink- 
ered with  their  machines,  and  scraped  off  the  ver- 
digris and  accumulated  dust  of  storage;  millmen 
began  to  reset  the  tables,  strip  the  damaged 
plates,  and  lay  in  new  water  pipes  to  drip  cease- 
lessly over  the  powered  ore.  Over  all  these 
watched  Bill  with  his  bandaged  face,  rumbling 
orders  here  and  there,  and  tirelessly  active.  Out 
on  the  pipe  line,  winding  by  cut  and  trestle  from 
the  reservoir  in  the  high  hills,  Dick  superintended 
repairs  and  laid  plans. 

Leaving  his  gang  replacing  sections  near  the 


ioo  THE  PLUNDERER 

power-house,  he  climbed  up  the  length  of  the  line 
to  discover,  if  possible,  how  far  the  labors  of  the 
vandal  had  extended.  Foot  by  foot  he  had  tra- 
versed it,  almost  to  the  reservoir  itself,  when  he 
paused  to  breathe  and  look  off  at  the  mountains 
spread  below  and  around. 

The  Cross,  in  the  distance,  was  softened  again 
to  a  miracle  of  dim  yellow  laid  against  a  field  of 
purple,  and,  like  a  speck,  a  huge  eagle  swept  in 
circles  round  its  point  to  come  to  rest  on  its 
extreme  summit.  He  turned  from  admiring  its 
flight  to  inspect  a  bowlder  that  had  tumbled  down 
from  the  slope  above  and  come  to  rest  in  a  big 
dent;  it  had  smashed  in  the  top  of  the  pipe.  He 
picked  up  a  piece  of  a  storm-broken  limb,  used 
it  as  a  lever,  and  sent  the  rock  crashing  across  the 
pipe  to  go  bounding  down  the  hillside  as  it  gained 
momentum  with  every  leap. 

There  was  a  startled  snort,  a  sudden  thresh- 
ing of  the  brush,  and  it  parted  to  disclose  a  girl 
astride  a  horse  that  was  terrified  and  endeavoring 
his  best  to  dismount  his  rider.  Dick,  surmising 
that  horse  and  rider  had  suffered  a  narrow 
escape  from  the  bowlder,  ran  toward  them 
remorsefully,  but  the  girl  already  had  the  animal 
in  control  after  a  display  of  splendid  horseman- 
ship. 


MY  LADY  OF  THE  HORSE       101 

"  Thank  you,"  she  said,  as  he  hastened  toward 
the  horse's  head,  intent  on  seizing  the  snaffle. 
"  Please  don't  touch  him.  I  can  quiet  him 
down." 

"  I  am  so  sorry,"  he  pleaded,  with  his  hat  in 
his  hand.  "  I  had  no  idea  that  any  one  ever  rode 
up  this  way." 

"  Don't  apologize,"  she  answered,  with  a  care- 
less laugh.  "  No  one  ever  does,  save  me.  It's 
an  old  and  favorite  view  of  mine.  I  used  to  ride 
here,  to  see  the  Cross,  many  years  ago,  before 
I  went  away  to  school.  So  I  came  back  to  see 
my  old  friend,  and — well — your  bowlder  would 
have  struck  us  if  my  horse  hadn't  jumped." 

She  laughed  again,  and  reached  a  yellow- 
gauntleted  hand  down  to  pat  her  mount's  shoul- 
der with  a  soothing  caress.  The  horse  stopped 
trembling,  and  looked  at  Dick  with  large,  intel- 
ligent eyes. 

"  Ah,"  said  Dick,  remembering  the  garrulity 
of  the  engineer.  "  I  believe  you  must  be  Miss 
Presby." 

Even  as  she  said  simply:  "I  am,  but  how  did 
you  know?  I  don't  remember  ever  seeing  you," 
he  took  note  of  her  modish  blue  riding-dress  with 
divided  skirts  and  patent-leather  boots.  There 
Was  a  clean  freshness  about  her  person,  a  smiling 


102  THE  PLUNDERER 

candor  in  her  eyes,  and  a  fine,  frank  girlishness 
in  her  face  that  attracted  him  beyond  measure. 
She  appeared  to  be  about  twenty  years  of  age, 
and  was  such  a  girl  as  those  he  had  known  and 
danced  with,  in  those  distant  university  days 
when  his  future  seemed  assured,  and  life  a  joy- 
ous conquest  with  all  the  odds  in  his  favor.  Now 
she  was  of  another  world,  for  he  was,  after  all, 
but  a  workingman,  while  she,  the  daughter  of  a 
millionaire  lumberman,  would  dance  and  asso- 
ciate with  those  other  university  men  whose  finan- 
cial incomes  enabled  them  to  dawdle  as  they 
pleased  through  life.  He  had  no  bitterness  in 
this  summary,  but  he  sustained  an  instant's  long- 
ing for  a  taste  of  that  old  existence,  and  the  cam- 
•araderie  of  such  girls  as  the  one  who  sat  before 
him  on  her  horse. 

"  No,"  he  said,  looking  up  at  her,  "  you  never 
saw  me  before.  I  have  been  in  the  Blue  Moun- 
tains but  six  weeks.  I  am  Richard  Townsend." 

Her  face  took  on  a  look  of  aroused  interest, 
different  from  the  casual  look  she  had  been  giv- 
ing him  in  the  brief  minute  of  their  meeting. 

"Oh,"  she  said,  "  then  you  must  be  the  Mr. 
Townsend  of  the  Croix  d'Or.  I  learned  of 
your  arrival  last  night  after  I  came  home.  You 
are  rehabilitating  the  old  mine?  " 


MY  LADY  OF  THE  HORSE       103 

"  Yes,"  he  answered,  smiling.  "  At  least  we 
are  trying  to.  As  to  the  outcome — I  don't  know." 

"You  mustn't  say  that!"  she  protested. 
"  Faith  in  anything  is  the  first  requisite  for  suc- 
cess. That's  what  it  says  in  the  copybooks, 
doesn't  it?  " 

She  laughed  again  in  her  clear,  mezzo  voice, 
and  then  with  a  resumption  of  gravity  gathered 
her  reins  into  a  firmer  grip,  and,  as  her  horse 
lifted  his  head  in  response  to  the  summons,  said: 
"  Anyway,  I  thank  you  for  volunteering  to  rescue 
me,  Mr.  Townsend,  and  wish  you  lots  of  good 
luck,  but  please  don't  start  any  more  bowlders 
down  the  hill,  because  if  you  do  I  shall  be  robbed 
of  my  most  enjoyable  trip  each  day.  Good-by." 

"Don't  be  afraid,"  he  called  to  her, -as "she 
started  away.  "  There  are  no  more  bowlders  to 
roll." 

He  stood  and  watched  her  as  she  rode,  master- 
fully seated  on  the  black  horse,  around  a  crag 
that  stuck  out  into  the  trail. 

"  '  Faith  in  anything  is  the  first  requisite  for 
success,'  "  he  repeated  to  himself,  striving  to 
recall  whether  or  not  it  was,  as  she  had  intimated, 
a  hackneyed  proverb  for  the  young;  yet  there  was 
something  bracing  in  it,  coming  from  her  calm, 
young,  womanly  lips.  "That's  it;  she  has  it," 


104  THE  PLUNDERER 

he  again  said  to  himself.  "  '  Faith.'  That's 
what  I  need."  And  he  resumed  his  tramp  up 
the  mountainside  with  a  better  courage  and  more 
hope  for  the  Croix  d'Or.  He  was  still  vaguely 
troubled  when  he  made  his  way  back  past  the 
power-house,  in  a  sliding,  scrambling  descent, 
his  boots  starting  tiny  avalanches  of  shale  and 
loose  rock  to  go  clattering  down  the  mountain- 
side. 

The  new  men  were  proving  competent  under 
the  direction  of  a  boss  pipeman  who  had  been 
made  foreman,  and  Dick  trudged  away  toward 
the  mine,  feeling  that  one  part  of  the  work,  at 
least,  would  be  speedily  accomplished. 

Bill  was  still  striding  backward  and  forward, 
but  devoting  most  of  his  attention  to  cleaning  up 
the  mill,  and  declared,  with  a  wry  smile,  that  he 
never  felt  better  in  his  life,  but  never  liked  talking 
less. 

When  the  noon  whistle  shrieked  its  high,  stac- 
cato note  from  the  engine-house,  they  went  up  to 
the  mess,  and  seated  themselves  at  the  head  of 
the  table.  As  a  whole,  the  men  were  fairly  sat- 
isfactory. Bill  stared  coldly  down  the  table,  and 
appeared  to  be  mentally  tabulating  those  who 
would  draw  but  one  pay-checlc,  and  that  when 
their  "  time  "  was  given  them,  but  Dick's  mind 


MY  LADY  OF  THE  HORSE       105 

persisted  in  wandering  afield  to  the  chance 
encounter  of  the  morning. 

The  men  had  finished  their  hasty  meal,  in  hasty 
miner's  fashion,  silently,  and  tramped,  with 
clumping  feet,  out  of  the  mess-house  to  the  shade 
of  its  northern  side  before  Bill  had  ended  his 
painful  repast.  Whiffs  of  tobacco  smoke  and 
voices  came  through  the  open  windows,  where  the 
miners  lounged  and  rested  on  a  long  bench  while 
waiting  for  the  whistle. 

"  Don't  you  fool  yourself  about  Bully  Presby," 
one  of  them  was  saying.  "  It's  true  he's  a  hard 
man,  and  out  for  the  dust  every  minute  of  his  life, 
but  he's  got  nerve,  all  right.  He'll  bulldoze  and 
fight  and  growl  and  gouge,  but  he's  there  in  other 
ways.  I  don't  like  him,  and  we  quit  pretty  sud- 
den, yet  I  saw  him  do  somethin'  once  that  beat 
me." 

"Did  you  work  on  the  Rattler?"  another 
voice  queried. 

"  No,"  the  other  went  on,  "  I  worked  for  him 
down  on  the  Placer  Belle  in  California.  It  was 
under  the  old  system  and  was  a  small  mine.  Kept 
all  the  dynamite  on  the  hundred-foot  level  in  an 
old  chamber.  Every  man  went  there  to  get  it 
when  it  was  time  to  load  his  holes.  I  was  startin' 
for  mine  one  evenin',  whistlin'  along,  when  I 


io6  THE  PLUNDERER 

smelled  smoke.  Stopped  and  sniffed,  and  about 
weakened.  Knowed  it  was  comin'  from  the 
powder  room  down  there.  It  wan't  more'n 
twenty  feet  from  the  shaft,  and  there  was  two  or 
three  tons  of  it  in  that  hole.  Ran  back  and  gave 
the  alarm  bell  to  the  engineer,  then  ducked  my 
head  and  went  toward  the  smoke  to  see  if  any- 
thing could  be  done  before  she  blew  up  the  whole 
works.  On  his  hands  and  knees,  with  all  that 
was  left  of  his  coat,  was  Bully.  He'd  got  the  fire 
nearly  smothered  out,  and  we  coughed  and  spit, 
and  drowned  the  rest  of  the  sparks  from  the 
water  barrel.  He'd  fought  it  to  a  finish  all  alone, 
and  I  had  to  drag  him  out  to  the  cage  that  was 
slidin'  up  and  down  as  if  the  engineer  was  on  a 
drunk,  and  every  time  it  went  up  I  could  see  the 
boys'  faces,  kind  of  white,  and  worried,  and  hear 
the  alarms  bangin'  away  like  mad.  But  he'd  put 
the  fire  out  there  with  all  that  stuff  around  him. 
That  took  some  nerve,  I  tell  you  1  " 

"What  ,did  he  do  for  you?"  asked  another 
voice. 

The  narrator  gave  a  heavy  laugh,  and  chuckled. 

"  Do  for  me?  When  he  got  fresh  air  in  him 
again,  up  in  the  hoist,  he  sat  up  and  opened  his 
hand.  In  it  was  a  candlestick  and  a  snipe,  burned 
on  the  side  till  the  wick  looked  about  a  foot  long. 


MY  LADY  OF  THE  HORSE       107 

'  Who  owns  this  candlestick?  '  says  he.  No  one 
spoke,  but  some  of  us  knowed  it  belonged  to  old 
Deacon  Wells,  an  absent-minded  old  cuss,  but 
the  deacon  had  a  family  of  nigh  on  to  ten  kids. 
So  nobody  answered.  '  Some  fool  left  this  here,' 
Bully  bellowed,  tearing  around.  '  And  that's 
what  started  the  fire.  I'll  kick  the  man  off  the 
works  that  owns  the  stick.'  Still  nobody  said 
anything.  He  caught  me  grinnin'.  '  You  know 
who  it  was,'  says  he.  '  Sure  I  do,'  says  I,  '  but 
I'm  a  little  tongue-tied.'  Then  he  told  me  he'd 
fire  me  if  I  didn't  say  who  it  was.  '  Give  me  my 
time-check,'  says  I,  and  he  gave  it.  He  found 
out  afterward  I  was  the  man  that  dragged  him 
out,  and  sent  a  letter  up  to  Colusa  askin'  me  to 
come  back,  but  I  didn't  go.  Don't  s'pose  he'd 
remember  me  now,  and  don't  know  as  I'd  want 
him  to.  Any  man  that  works  for  Bully  comes 
about  as  near  givin'  away  his  heart's  blood  as  any 
one  could,  and  live." 

The  voices  went  rumbling  on,  and  Dick  sat 
thinking  of  the  strange,  powerful  man  of  the 
Rattler. 

"  Three  of  the  millmen  know  their  business," 
mumbled  Bill,  as  if  all  the  time  he  had  been  men- 
tally appraising  his  force.  "  Two  are  rumdums. 
The  chips  isn't  bad.  He  could  carpenter  any- 


io8  THE  PLUNDERER 

where,  and  if  he's  as  smart  a  timberman  as  he 
is  millwright,  will  make  good.  The  engineer 
that's  to  relieve  Bells  ain't  so  much,  but  I'll  leave 
it  to  Bells  to  cuss  him  into  line.  That  goes.  Two 
of  the  Burley  men  are  all  right,  and  I  fired  the 
third  in  the  first  hour  because  he  didn't  know 
what  was  the  nut  and  which  the  wrench.  Smuts  is 
a  gem.  He  put  the  pigeon-blue  temper  on  a 
bunch  of  drills  as  fast  as  any  man  could  have 
done  it." 

Dick  did  not  answer,  but  concentrated  his  mind 
on  the  work  ahead.     The  whistle  blew,   and  he 

• 

compelled  Bill  to  submit  to  new  bandages,  follow- 
ing the  doctor's  instructions,  and  smiled  at  his 
steady  swearing  as  the  wrappings  were  removed 
and  the  blisters  redressed.  They  walked  across 
to  the  hoist,  entered  the  cage,  and  felt  the  sinking 
sensation  as  they  were  dropped,  rather  than  low- 
ered, to  the  six-hundred-foot  level.  The  celerity 
of  the  descent  almost  robbed  him  of  breath,  but 
he  thought  of  sturdy  old  Bells'  boast,  that  he 
had  "  never  run  a  cage  into  the  sheaves,  nor 
dropped  it  to  the  sump,  in  forty  years  of  steam." 
Lights  glowed  ahead  of  them,  and  they  heard 
hammering.  The  suck  of  fresh  air  under  pres- 
sure, vapored  like  steam,  whirled  around  them 
in  gusts,  and  the  water  oozed  and  rippled  beside 


MY  LADY  OF  THE  HORSE       109 

their  feet  as  they  went  forward.  The  carpenter 
was  putting  in  a  new  set  of  timbers,  and  his  task 
was  nearly  finished,  while  beside  him  waited  a 
drill  man  and  a  swamper  with  the  cumbersome, 
spiderlike  mechanism  ready  to  set.  The  carpen- 
ter gave  a  few  more  blows  to  a  key  block,  and 
methodically  flung  his  hammer  into  his  box  and 
hurried  back  out  through  the  tunnel  toward  the 
cage,  intent  on  resuming  his  work  at  the  mill. 

Bill  tentatively  inspected  the  timbers,  tapped 
the  roof  with  a  pick  taken  from  the  swamper's 
hands,  heard  the  true  ring  of  live  rock,  and 
backed  away.  The  drill  was  drawn  up  to  the 
green  face  of  ore. 

"  About  there,  I  should  say,"  Dick  directed, 
pointing  an  indicatory  finger,  and  the  drill  runner 
nodded. 

The  swamper,  who  appeared  to  know  his  busi- 
ness, came  forward  with  the  coupling  which  fed 
compressed  air  to  the  machine,  the  runner  gave 
a  last  inspection  of  his  drill,  turned  his  chuck 
screw,  setting  it  against  the  rocky  face,  and  sig- 
naled for  the  air.  With  a  clatter  like  the  dis- 
charge of  a  rapid-fire  gun,  the  steel  bit  into  the 
rock,  and  the  Cross  was  really  a  mine  again. 
Spattered  with  mud,  and  satisfied  that  the  new 


no  THE  PLUNDERER 

drift  was  working  in  pay,  the  partner  trudged 
back  out. 

They  signaled  for  the  cage,  shot  upward,  and 
emerged  to  the  yard  near  the  blacksmith's  tunnel 
in  time  to  see  a  huge  bay  horse,  with  a  woman 
rider,  come  toiling  up  the  slope.  There  was 
something  familiar  about  the  white  hat,  and  as 
she  neared  them  they  recognized  The  Lily.  Be- 
fore they  could  assist  her  to  dismount,  she  leaped 
from  the  saddle,  landing  lightly  on  her  toes,  and 
dropped  the  horse's  reins  over  his  head. 

"  Good-day — never  mind — he'll  stand,"  she 
said,  all  in  a  breath,  striding  toward  them  with 
an  extended  hand. 

Dick  accepted  it  with  a  firm  grip,  and  lifted 
his  hat,  while  Bill  merely  shook  hands  and  tried 
to  smile.  It  was  to  him  that  she  turned  solici- 
tously. 

"  I'm  glad  you  are  out,"  she  remarked,  with- 
out lowering  her  eyes  which  swept  over  the  band- 
ages on  his  face.  "You're  all  right,  are  you?" 

"  Sure.  But  how's  that  girl?  It  don't  matter 
much  about  an  old  cuss  like  me.  Girls  are  a  heap 
scarcer." 

The  owner  of  the  High  Light  looked  troubled 
for  a  moment,  and  removed  her  gloves  before 
answering. 


MY  LADY  OF  THE  HORSE       in 

"  Doctor  Mills  says  she  will  live,"  she  said 
quietly,  "  but  she  is  terribly  burned.  She  will  be 
so  disfigured  that  she  can  never  work  in  a  dance 
hall  any  more.  It's  pretty  rough  luck." 

Dick  recoiled  and  felt  a  chill  at  this  hard,  cold 
statement.  The  girl  could  never  work  in  a  dance 
hall  any  more !  'And  this  was  accepted  as  a  calam- 
ity! Accustomed  as  he  was  to  the  frontier,  this 
matter-of-fact  acceptance  of  a  dance-hall  occupa- 
tion as  something  desirable  impressed  him  with  its 
cynicism.  Not  that  he  doubted  the  virtue  of 
many  of  those  forlorn  ones  who  gayly  tripped 
their  feet  over  rough  boards,  and  drank  tea  or 
ginger  ale  and  filled  their  pockets  with  bar  checks 
to  make  a  living  as  best  they  might,  but  because 
the  whole  garish,  rough,  drink-laden,  curse- 
begrimed  atmosphere  of  a  camp  dance  hall 
revolted  him. 

Mrs.  Meredith  had  intuition,  and  read  men  as 
she  read  books,  understandingly.  She  arose  to 
the  defense  of  her  sex. 

"Well,"  she  said,  facing  him,  as  if  he  had  voiced 
his  sentiment,  "what  would  you  have?  Women 
are  what  men  make  them,  no  better,  no  worse." 

"  I  have  made  no  criticism,"  he  retorted. 

"  No,  but  you  thought  one,"  she  asserted. 
"But,  pshaw!  I  didn't  come  here  to  argue.  I 


ii2  THE  PLUNDERER 

came  up  to  tell  you  that  the  dance-hall  girl  will 
recover  and  has  friends  who  will  see  that  she 
doesn't  starve,  even  if  she  no  longer  works  in 
my  place.  Also,  I  came  to  see  how  Mister — 
what  is  your  name,  anyway? — is." 

"  Mathews,  ma'am.  William  Mathews.  My 
friends  call  me  Bill.  I  don't  allow  the  others  to 
call  me  anything." 

The  temporary  and  threatening  cloud  was  dis- 
sipated by  the  miner's  rumbling  laugh,  and  they 
sauntered  across  the  yard,  the  bay  horse  looking 
after  them,  but  standing  as  firmly  as  if  the 
loosened  reins  were  tied  to  a  post  instead  of  rest- 
ing on  the  ground.  A  swamper,  carrying  a  bun- 
dle of  drills,  trudged  across  the  yard  to  the  black- 
smith shop,  as  they  stood  in  its  doorway. 

"  I  sent  you  the  best  men  I  could  pick  up,"  The 
Lily  said.  "  You  did  me  a  good  turn,  and  I  did 
my  best  to  pay  it  back.  That  blacksmith  is  all 
right.  Some  of  the  others  I  know,  but  I  don't 
know  him.  Never  saw  him  before.  You'd  better 
watch  him." 

She  pointed  at  the  swamper  as  coolly  as  if  he 
were  an  inanimate  object,  and  he  glared  at  her 
in  return,  then  dropped  his  eyes. 

"  I  told  you  I  didn't  run  an  employment 
agency,"  she  went  on,  "  but  if  any  of  these  fel- 


MY  LADY  OF  THE  HORSE       113 

lows  get  fresh,  let  me  know,  and  I'll  try  to  get 
you  others.  How  does  the  Cross  look,  anyway?  " 

They  turned  away  and  accompanied  her  over 
the  plant  above  ground,  and  heard  her  greet  man 
after  man  on  a  level  of  comradeship,  as  if  she 
were  but  a  man  among  men.  Her  hard  self- 
possession  and  competence  impressed  the  younger 
man  as  a  peculiar  study.  It  seemed  to  him,  as  he 
walked  beside  her  thoughtfully,  that  every 
womanly  trait  had  been  ground  from  her  in  the 
stern  mills  of  circumstance.  He  had  a  vague 
desire  to  probe  into  her  mind  and  learn  whether 
or  not  there  still  dwelt  within  it  the  softness  of 
her  sex,  but  he  dared  not  venture.  He  stood 
beside  the  bandaged  veteran  as  she  rode  away,  a 
graceful,  independent  figure. 

"Is  she  all  tiger,  or  part  woman?"  he  said, 
turning  to  Mathews,  whose  eyes  had  a  singularly 
thoughtful  look. 

The  latter  turned  to  him  with  a  quick  gesture, 
and  threw  up  his  unbandaged  hand. 

"  My  boy,"  he  said,  "  she's  not  a  half  of  any- 
thing. She's  all  tiger,  or  all  woman!  God  only 
knows !  " 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE  WOMAN    UNAFRAID 

THEY  were  to  have  another  opportunity  to 
puzzle  over  the   character  of  The  Lily 
before  a  week  passed,  when,  wishing  to 
make  out  a  new  bill  of  supplies,  they  went  down 
to  the  camp.     The  night  was  fragrant  with  the 
spring  of    the    mountains,   summer  elsewhere — 
down  in  the  levels  where  other  occupations  than 
mining  held  rule.    The  camp  had  the  same  dead 
level  of  squalor  in  appearance,  the  same  twisting, 
wriggling,  reckless  life  in  its  streets. 

"  Fine  new  lot  of  stuff  in,"  the  trader  said, 
pushing  his  goods  in  a  brisk  way.  "  Never  been  a 
finer  lot  of  stuff  brought  into  any  camp  than  I've 
got  here  now.  Canned  tomatoes,  canned  corn, 
canned  beans,  canned  meat,  canned  tripe,  canned 
salmon.  That's  a  pretty  big  layout,  eh?  And 
I  reckon  there  never  was  no  better  dried  prunes 
and  dried  apricots  ever  thrown  across  a  mule's 
back  than  I  got.  Why,  they  taste  as  if  you 

114 


THE  WOMAN  UNAFRAID         1 1 5 

was  eatin'  'em  right  off  the  bushes!  And  Mex- 
ican beans!  Hey,  look  at  these!  Talk  about 
beans  and  sowbelly,  how  would  these  do?" 

He  plunged  his  grimy  hand  into  a  sack,  and 
lifted  a  handful  of  beans  aloft  to  let  them  sift 
through  his  fingers,  clattering,  on  those  below. 
The  partners  agreed  that  he  had  everything  in  the 
world  that  any  one  could  crave  in  the  way  of  del- 
icacies, and  gave  him  their  orders;  then,  that 
hour's  task  completed,  sauntered  out  into  the 
street. 

Dick  started  toward  the  trail  leading  home- 
ward, but  Bill  checked  him,  with  a  slow:  "  Hold 
on  a  minute." 

The  younger  man  turned  back,  and  waited  for 
him  to  speak. 

"  I'd  kind  of  like  to  go  down  to  the  High  Light 
for  a  while,"  the  big  man  said  awkwardly.  "  We 
ought  to  go  round  there  and  see  Mrs.  Meredith, 
and  patronize  her  as  far  as  a  few  soda  pops,  and 
such  go,  hadn't  we?  Seein'  as  how  she's  been 
right  good  to  us." 

Dick,  nothing  loath  to  a  visit  to  The  Lily,  as- 
sented, although  the  High  Light,  with  its  camp 
garishness,  was  an  old  and  familiar  sight  to  any 
one  who  had  passed  seven  years  in  outlying 
mining  regions. 


u6  THE  PLUNDERER 

The  proprietress  was  not  in  sight  when  they  en- 
tered, but  the  bartenders  greeted  them  in  a  more 
friendly  way,  and  the  Chinese,  who  seemed  for- 
ever cleaning  glasses,  grinned  them  a  welcome. 
They  nodded  to  those  they  recognized,  and 
walked  back  to  the  little  railing. 

"  Lookin'  for  Lily?  "  the  man  with  the  bangs 
asked,  trying  to  show  his  friendliness.  She  ain't 
here  now,  but  she'll  be  here  soon.  She's  about 
due.  Go  on  up  and  grab  a  box  for  yourselves. 
The  house  owes  you  fellers  a  drink,  it  seems  to 
me.  Can  I  send  you  up  a  bottle  of  Pumbry? 
The  fizzy  stuff's  none  too  good  for  you,  I  guess." 

He  appeared  disappointed  when  Dick  told  him 
to  send  up  two  lemonades,  and  turned  back  to  lean- 
across  the  bar  and  hail  some  new  arrival.  The 
partners  went  up  and  seated  themselves  in  one  of 
the  cardboard  stalls  dignified  by  the  name  of 
boxes,  and,  leaning  over  the  railing  in  front  be- 
tween the  gilt-embroidered,  red-denim  curtains, 
looked  down  on  the  dancers.  Two  or  three  of 
their  own  men  were  there,  grimly  waltzing  with 
girls  who  tried  to  appear  cheerful  and  joyous. 

Shrill  laughter  echoed  now  and  then,  and  when 
the  music  changed  a  man  with  a  voice  like  a  meg- 
aphone shouted:  "Gents!  Git  pardners  for  the 
square  sets !  "  and  the  scene  shifted  into  one  of 


THE  WOMAN  UNAFRAID         1 1 7 

more  regular  pattern,  where  different  individuals 
were  more  conspicuous.  Some  of  the  more  hila- 
rious cavorted,  and  tried  clumsy  shuffles  on  the 
corners  when  the  raucous-voiced  man  howled: 
"  Bala-a-ance  all!  "  and  others  merely  jigged  up 
and  down  with  stiff  jerks  and  muscle-bound  limbs, 
gravely,  and  with  a  desperate,  earnest  endeavor 
to  enjoy  themselves. 

A  glowering,  pockmarked  man,  evidently  seek- 
ing some  one  with  no  good  intent,  pulled  open  the 
curtains  at  the  back  of  the  box,  and  stared  at  them 
in  half-drunken  gravity;  then  discovering  his 
mistake,  with  a  clumsy  "  Beg  pardon,  gents,"  let 
the  draperies  drop,  and  passed  on  down  the  row. 

Across  from  them,  in  the  opposite  box,  some 
man  from  the  placers,  with  his  face  tanned  to  a 
copper  color,  was  hilariously  surrounding  himself 
with  all  the  girls  he  could  induce  to  become  his 
guests,  holding  a  box  party  of  his  own.  He  was 
leaning  over  the  rail  and  bellowing  so  loudly  that 
his  voice  could  be  heard  above  the  din :  "  Hey, 
down  there!  You,  Tim!  Bring  me  up  a  bottle 
of  the  bubbly  water — two  bottles — five — no,  send 
up  a  case.  Whoop-ee !  Pay  on  seventeen  I  This 
is  where  little  Hank  Jones  celebrates !  Come  on 
up,  girls.  Here's  where  no  men  is  wanted.  It's 
me  all  by  my  little  lonely!  " 


n8  THE  PLUNDERER 

Some  one  threw  a  garland  of  paper  flowers 
round  his  neck,  which  he  esteemed  as  a  high 
honor,  and  shook  it  out  over  the  floor  below, 
where  all  the  dancers  were  becoming  confused  in 
an  endeavor  simultaneously  to  watch  his  antics, 
and  keep  their  places  in  the  dance. 

"  The  most  disgusting  object  in  the  world  is 
a  man  who  drinks!  "  came  a  cold  voice  behind 
them,  and  they  turned  to  see  The  Lily  standing 
back  of  them,  and  frowning  at  the  scene  across. 

Bill  turned  to  greet  her,  holding  out  his  hand, 
and  his  broad  shoulders  shut  out  the  view  of 
Bacchanalia. 

"  The  bartender  says  you  drink  nothing 
stronger  than  lemonade,"  she  said,  looking  up  at 
the  giant,  "  and  I  am  glad  to  hear  it.  It  is  a 
pleasure  to  meet  men  like  you  once  in  a  while. 
It  keeps  one  from  losing  faith  in  all." 

She  sat  down  in  one  of  the  chairs — a  trifle 
wearily,  Dick  thought,  and  he  noticed  that  there 
were  lines  under  the  eyebrows,  melancholy,  pen- 
sive, that  he  had  not  observed  before  in  the  few 
times  they  had  met  her.  As  on  the  occasion  of 
their  meeting  at  the  mine,  she  appeared  to  sense 
his  thoughts,  and  turned  toward  him  as  if  to 
defend  herself. 

"  You  are  asking  yourself  and  me  the  question, 


THE  WOMAN  UNAFRAID         1 1 9 

why,  if  I  dislike  liquor,  and  gambling,  and  all 
this,  I  am  owner  of  the  High  Light?  "  she  said, 
reverting  to  her  old-time  hardness.  "  Well,  it's 
because  I  want  money.  Does  that  answer  you?  " 

"  I  didn't  ask  you  a  question,"  he  retorted. 

"  No,  but  it's  just  like  it  always  is  with  you ! 
You  looked  one.  I'm  not  sure  that  I  like  you; 
you  look  so  devilish  clean-minded.  You  always 
accuse  me,  without  saying  anything  so  that  I  can 
have  a  chance  to  answer  back.  It  isn't  fair.  I 
don't  like  to  be  made  uncomfortable.  I  am  what 
I  am,  and  can't  help  it." 

She  turned  her  frowning  eyes  on  Bill,  and  they 
softened.  She  relented,  and  for  the  first  time 
in  the  evening  her  rare  laugh  sounded  softly  from 
between  her  white,  even  teeth. 

"  You  see,"  she  said,  addressing  him,  "  I  can't 
help  being  angry  with  Mr.  Townsend.  I  think 
I'm  a  little  afraid  of  him.  I'm  a  coward  in 
some  ways.  You're  different.  You  just  smile 
kindly  at  me,  as  if  you  were  older  than  Methuse- 
lah, and  had  all  the  wisdom  of  Solomon  or 
Socrates,  and  were  inclined  to  be  tolerant  when 
you  couldn't  agree." 

"Go  on,"  Bill  said.  "You're  doin'  all  the 
talkin'." 

"  I  have  a  right  to  exercise  at  least  one  worn- 


120  THE  PLUNDERER 

anly  prerogative,  once  in  a  while,"  she  laughed. 
And  then:  "  But  I  am  talking  more  than  usual. 
Tell  me  about  the  mine  and  the  men?  How 
goes  it?  " 

They  had  but  little  to  tell  her,  yet  she  seemed 
to  find  it  interesting,  and  her  eyes  had  the 
absent  look  of  one  who  listens  and  sees  distant 
scenes  under  discussion  to  the  exclusion  of  all 
immediate  surroundings. 

"Have  you  met  Bully  Presby  yet?"  she 
asked. 

They  smiled,  and  told  her  they  had. 

"  He  is  a  wonderful  man,"  she  said  admir- 
ingly. "  He  makes  his  way  over  everything  and 
everybody.  He  is  ruthless  in  going  after  what 
he  wants.  He  fears  nothing  above  or  below. 
I  honestly  believe  that  if  the  arch  demon  were 
to  block  him  on  the  trail,  Bully  Presby  would 
take  a  chance  and  try  to  throw  him  over  a  cliff. 
I  don't  suppose  he  ever  had  a  vice  or  a  human 
emotion.  I  believe  I'd  like  him  better  if  he  had 
a  little  of  both." 

Dick  laughed  outright,  and  stared  at  her  with 
renewed  interest.  He  admitted  to  himself  that 
she  was  one  of  the  most  fascinating  women  he 
had  ever  met,  and  wondered  what  vicissitude 
could  have  brought  such  a  woman,  who  used 


THE  WOMAN  UNAFRAID         1 2 1 

classical  illustrations,  fluent,  cultivated  speech, 
and  who  was  strong  grace  exemplified,  to  such  a 
position.  She  seemed  master  of  her  surround- 
ings, and  yet  not  of  them,  looking  down  with  a 
hard  and  lofty  scorn  on  the  very  men  from 
whom  she  made  her  living.  He  began  to 
believe  what  was  commonly  said  of  her,  that 
her  virtue,  physical  and  ethical,  was  unassail- 
able. 

There  was  a  crash  and  a  loud  guffaw  of 
laughter.  They  pulled  the  curtains  farther 
apart,  and  looked  across  at  the  man  who  was 
celebrating.  He  had  dropped  a  bottle  of  wine  to 
the  floor  below,  and  was  beseeching  some  one 
to  bring  it  up  to  him. 

Bill  leaned  farther  out  of  the  box  to  look, 
and  suddenly  the  drummer  saw  him,  pointed  in 
his  direction  with  a  drumstick,  and  spoke  to  a 
girl  leaning  near  by.  She,  too,  looked  up,  and 
then  clapped  her  hands. 

"  There  he  is !  "  she  called  in  her  high  treble 
voice.  "Up  there  in  number  five!  The  man 
that  carried  Pearl  out  and  got  burned  himself." 

Some  man  near  her  climbed  to  the  little  stage 
and  pointed,  took  off  his  hat,  and  shouted:  "A! 
tiger  for  that  man!  Now!  All  together! 
Whooee!  Whooee!  Whooee!  Ow!" 


122  THE  PLUNDERER 

In  the  wild  yell  that  every  one  joined,  Bill 
was  abashed.  He  shrank  back  into  the  box, 
flushed  and  embarrassed,  while  Dick  laughed  out- 
right, with  boyish  enjoyment  at  his  confusion, 
and  The  Lily  watched  him  with  a  soft  look  in 
her  eyes,  and  then  stared  down  at  the  floor  below. 

Suddenly  her  figure  seemed  to  stiffen,  and  the 
look  on  her  face  altered  to  one  of  cold  anger. 
She  peered  farther  over  as  if  to  assure  herself 
of  something,  and  Dick,  following  her  eyes,  saw 
they  were  fixed  on  a  man  who  stood  leaning 
against  one  of  the  pillars  near  the  entrance  to 
the  dance  floor.  He  alone,  apparently,  was 
taking  no  part  in  the  demonstration  in  Bill's 
honor,  but  glowered  sullenly  toward  the  box.  It 
took  no  long  reasoning  for  Dick  to  know  why. 
The  man  was  the  one  who  had  been  the  watch- 
man at  the  mine  when  they  arrived. 

The  band  struck  up  again,  and  another 
dance  began,  the  enthusiasts  forgetting  Bill  as 
quickly  as  they  had  saluted  him;  but  the 
ex-watchman  continued  to  lean  against  the  post,  a 
picture  of  sullenness,  and  in  the  box  The  Lily 
stood  with  knitted  brows,  as  if  trying  to  recol- 
lect him. 

"  Well,"  she  said  at  last,   "  I  must  go  now. 


THE  WOMAN  UNAFRAID         1 23 

Come  and  sec  me  whenever  you  can,  both  of  you. 
I  like  you." 

They  arose  and  followed  her  out  of  the  box, 
and  down  the  flimsy  stairs  that  led  to  the  floor 
below.  She  paused  on  the  bottom  step,  and 
clutched  the  casing  with  both  hands,  then  tried 
to  get  a  closer  look  at  the  ex-watchman,  who 
had  turned  away  until  but  a  small  part  of  his 
face  was  exposed.  She  walked  onward,  still 
looking  angrily  preoccupied,  to  the  end  of  the 
bar,  and  the  partners  were  on  the  point  of  bid- 
ding her  good-night,  when  she  abruptly  started, 
seemed  to  tense  herself,  and  exclaimed:  "  Now 
I  know  him !  " 

The  partners  wondered  when  she  made  a 
swift  clutch  under  the  end  of  the  bar  and  slipped 
something  into  the  bosom  of  her  jacket.  She 
took  five  or  six  determined  steps  toward  the 
ex-watchman  and  tapped  him  on  the  shoulder. 

He  whirled  sharply  as  if  his  mind  had  guilty 
fears,  and  faced  her  defiantly. 

Those  immediately  around,  suspecting  some- 
thing unusual,  stopped  to  watch  them,  and 
listened. 

"  So  you  are  here  in  Goldpan,  are  you,  Wolff  ?" 
she  demanded,  with  a  cold  sneer  in  her  voice. 

He  gave  her  a  fierce,  defiant  stare,  and  braz- 


i24  THE  PLUNDERER 

enly  growled:  "You're  off.  My  name's  not 
Wolff.  My  name's  Brown." 

"You  lie!"  she  flared  back,  with  a  hard 
anger  in  her  voice.  "  Your  name  is  Gus  Wolff ! 
You  get  out  of  this  place,  and  don't  you  ever 
come  in  again !  If  you  do,  I'll  have  you  thrown 
out  like  a  dog." 

He  glowered  at  the  crowd  that  was  forming 
around  him,  as  crowds  invariably  form  in  any 
controversy,  and  then  started  toward  the  door, 
but  he  made  a  grave  mistake.  He  called  back  a 
vile  epithet  as  he  went. 

"  Stop !  "  she  commanded  him,  with  an  impe- 
rious, compelling  tone. 

He  half-turned,  and  then  shrugged  his  shoul- 
ders, and  made  as  if  to  move  on. 

"Stop,  I  said!" 

He  turned  again  to  face  a  pistol  which  she 
had  snatched  from  her  jacket,  and  now  the  part- 
ners, amazed,  understood  what  that  swift  motion 
had  meant.  He  halted  irresolutely. 

"  You  used  a  name  toward  me  that  I  permit 
no  man  to  use,"  she  said  fiercely.  "  So  I  shall 
explain  to  these  men  of  Goldpan  who  you  are, 
Gus  Wolff !  You  were  in  Butte  five  years  ago. 
You  induced  a  poor,  silly  little  fool  named  Rose 
Trevor  to  leave  the  dance  hall  where  she  worked, 


THE  WOMAN  UNAFRAID         125 

and  go  with  you.  You  were  one  of  those  who 
believe  that  women  are  made  to  be  brutalized. 
But  good  as  most  of  them  are,  and  bad  as  some 
of  them  are,  there  is  none,  living  or  dead, 
that  you  are  or  were  fit  to  consort  with. 
You  murdered  her.  Don't  you  dare  to  deny 
it!  They  found  her  dead  outside  of  your 
cabin.  They  arrested  you,  and  tried  you,  and 
should  have  hanged  you,  but  they  couldn't  get 
the  proof  of  what  everybody  believed,  that  you 
— you  brute — had  killed,  then  thrown  her  over 
the  rocks  to  claim  that  she  had  fallen  there  in 
the  darkness." 

She  paused  as  if  the  tempest  of  her  words  had 
left  her  breathless,  and  men  glared  at  him  sav- 
agely. It  seemed  as  if  every  one  had  crowded 
forward  to  hear  her  denunciation. 

"  Bah !  "  she  added  scornfully.  "  The  jury 
was  made  up  of  fools,  and  men  knew  it.  The 
sheriff  himself  told  you  so  when  he  slipped  you 
out  of  the  jail  where  he  had  protected  you,  and 
let  you  loose  across  the  border  in  the  night. 
Didn't  he?  And  he  told  you  that  if  ever  you 
came  back  to  Butte,  he  would  not  turn  a  hand 
to  keep  you  from  the  clutches  of  the  mob;  didn't 
he?  And  now  you  are  plain  '  Mister  Brown,' 
working  somewhere  back  up  in  the  hills,  are  you? 


126.  THE  PLUNDERER 

Well,  Mr.  Brown,  you  keep  away  from  the  High 
Light.  Get  out !  " 

Some  one  made  a  restless  motion,  and 
declared  the  man  should  be  hanged,  even  now, 
but  The  Lily  turned  her  angry  eyes  on  the 
speaker,  and  silenced  him. 

"  Not  if  I  can  help  it,  or  any  of  my  friends 
can,"  she  said  coolly.  "  There'll  be  no  mobbing 
anybody  around  here.  I've  said  enough.  Let 
him  alone,  but  remember  what  kind  of  a  black- 
guard he  is.  That's  all!  " 

She  turned  back  and  tossed  the  pistol  behind 
the  bar,  and  the  crowd,  as  if  her  words  and  the 
advice  of  the  more  contained  element  prevailed, 
resumed  its  play.  She  looked  up,  and  saw  the 
partners  waiting  to  bid  her  good-night,  and  sud- 
denly bit  her  lip,  as  if  ashamed  that  they  had 
seen  her  fury  unmasked. 

"  We're  going  now,"  Bill  said,  reaching  out 
his  hand.  She  did  not  take  it,  but  looked 
around  the  room  with  unreadable  eyes. 

"  I'll  walk  with  you  to  the  beginning  of  your 
trail,"  she  said.  "  I'm  sick  of  this,"  and  led  the 
way  out  into  the  night. 

For  half  the  length  of  the  long  street,  she 
strode  between  them,  wordless,  and  then  sud- 


THE  WOMAN  UNAFRAID         1 27 

denly  halted  and  held  her  arms  apart  appeal- 
ingly. 

"What  must  you  think  of  me?"  she  said, 
with  a  note  of  grief  in  her  voice.  "  Oh,  you  two 
don't  know  it  all !  You  don't  know  what  it  takes 
to  make  a  woman,  who  tries  to  be  decent,  rebel- 
lious at  everything  under  the  skies.  What  brutes 
there  are  walking  the  earth !  Sometimes,  lately, 
I  begin  to  doubt  if  there  is  a  God!  " 

"  And  that,"  exclaimed  the  quiet,  steadfast 
young  voice  at  her  side,  "  is  unworthy  of  you  and 
your  intelligence." 

She  halted  again,  as  if  thinking. 

"  And  I,"  said  the  giant,  in  his  deep,  musical 
tones,  "  know  there's  one.  It  takes  more  than 
men  to  make  me  believe  there  ain't.  I  know  it 
when  I  look  at  them !  "  He  waved  his  hands  at 
the  starlit  mountains  surrounding  them,  and 
towering  in  serenity  high  up  to  the  cloudless 
spaces. 

"  I'd  be  mighty  ashamed  to  doubt  when  I  can 
see  them,"  he  said,  "  and  if  they  went  away, 
I'd  still  believe  it;  because  if  I  didn't,  I  couldn't 
see  no  use  in  livin'  any  more.  It's  havin'  Him 
lean  down  and  whisper  to  you  once  in  a  while,  in 
the  night,  when  everything  seems  to  be  goirr" 
wrong,  '  Old  boy,  you  did  well,'  that  keeps  it  all 


128  THE  PLUNDERER 

worth  while  and  makes  a  feller  stiffen  his  back 
and  go  ahead,  with  his  conscience  clean  and  not 
carin'  a  cuss  what  anybody  says  or  thinks,  so 
longs  as  he  knows  that  the  Lord  knows  he  did 
the  right  thing." 

She  faltered  for  a  moment,  and  Dick,  staring 
through  the  darkness  at  her,  could  not  decide 
whether  it  was  because  the  woman  in  her  was 
melting  after  the  storm  of  anger,  or  whether 
she  was  merely  weighing  his  partner's  words. 
As  abruptly  as  had  been  any  of  her  actions  in 
all  the  time  they  had  known  her,  she  turned  and 
walked  away  from  them,  her  soft  "  Good-night  " 
wafting  itself  back  with  a  note  of  profound 
sadness  and  misery. 

"  I've  decided  what  she  is,"  Bill  said,  as  they 
paused  for  a  last  look  at  the  lights  of  the  camp. 
"  She's  all  woman,  and  a  mighty  good  one,  at 
that!" 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE    INCONSISTENT    BULLY 


"  '"X^HEM  beans,"  declared  the  fat  cook, 
plaintively,  "  looks  as  if  they  had  been 
put  through  some  sort  of  shrivelin' 
process.  The  dried  prunes  are  sure  dry  all  right  ! 
Must  have  been  put  up  about  the  time  they  dried 
them  mummy  things  back  in  Egypt.  Apuricots? 
Humph!  I  soaked  some  of  'em  all  day  and  to- 
night took  one  over  to  the  shop  and  cut  it  open 
with  a  chisel  to  see  if  it  was  real  leather,  or  only 
imitation.  The  canned  salmon,  and  the  canned 
tripe  is  all  swells  so  that  the  cans  is  round 
instead  of  flat  on  the  ends.  I  reckon  you'd  bet- 
ter go  down  and  see  that  storekeeper.  I  das- 
sen't!  If  I  did  I'd  probably  lose  my  temper  and 
wallop  him.  If  somebody  don't  go,  the  men 
here'll  be  makin'  a  mistake,  blamin'  It  on  me,  and 
I  can't  exactly  see  how  they  could  keep  from 
hangin'  me,  if  they  want  to  do  justice." 

He  had  stood  in  the  doorway  of  the  office  to 
voice   his   complaint,    and   now,   without   further 

129 


i3o  THE  PLUNDERER 

words  walked   away  toward  his   own  particular 
section  of  the  little  camp  village. 

"  So  that's  the  way  that  trader  down  there 
filled  the  order,  is  it?"  Dick  said,  frowning  at 
his  companion. 

The  latter  merely  grunted  and  then  offered  a 
solution. 

"  Probably,"  he  said,  "  that  stuff  was  sent  up 
here  without  bein'  opened,  just  as  he  got  it.  If 
that's  so  it  ain't  his  fault.  About  half  the  rows 
in  life  come  from  takin'  things  for  granted.  The 
other  half  because  we  know  too  well  how  things 
did  happen." 

He  stood  up  and  stretched  his  arms. 
'  What  do  you  say  we  go  down  and  hear  what 
the  trader  has  to  say?     If  he's  square  he'll  make 
good.     If  he  ain't — we'll  make  him !  " 

Taking  it  for  granted  that  the  younger  man 
would  accompany  him,  he  was  already  slipping  off 
his  working  shirt  and  peering  around  the  corners 
of  the  room  for  his  clean  boots.  Dick  hesitated 
and  had  to  be  urged.  He  wondered  then  if  it 
were  not  possible  that  something  beside  the 
errand  to  the  trader's  caused  Bill's  eagerness;  but 
wisely  kept  the  idea  to  himself. 

The  camp  was  In  the  dusk  when  they  entered 
it,  the  soft  dusk  that  falls  over  early  summer 


evenings  in  the  hills,  when  everything  in  nature 
seems  drowsily  awaiting  the  night.  They 
thought  there  was  an  unusual  hush  in  the  manner 
of  those  they  met.  Men  talked  on  the  corners 
or  in  groups  in  the  roadway  with  unaccustomed 
earnestness.  Women  leaned  across  window  sills 
and  chatted  across  intervening  spaces  with  an 
air  of  anxiety;  the  very  dogs  in  the  street  ap- 
peared to  be  subdued.  At  the  trader's  there  was 
not  the  usual  small  gathering  of  loungers,  squat- 
ted sociably  around  on  cracker  boxes  and  pack- 
ing cases,  and  the  man  with  the  twang  was  alone. 

"  Say,  there's  something  wrong  with  that 
stuff  you  sent  us,"  Bill  began,  and  the  trader 
answered  with  a  soft,  absent-minded,  "So?" 

Bill  repeated  the  words  of  the  cook;  but  the 
storekeeper  continued  to  stare  out  of  the  door  as 
if  but  half  of  what  was  said  proved  interesting. 

"  I'll  send  up  and  bring  it  back  to-morrow," 
he  replied  when  the  miner  had  concluded  his 
complaint.  "  The  fact  is  it's  a  job  lot  I  bought 
in  Portland,  and  I  didn't  look  at  it.  Came  in 
yesterday.  I  ain't — I  ain't  exactly  feelin'  right. 
I  suppose  you  heard  about  it?" 

The  partners  looked  at  him  questioningly,  but 
he  did  not  shift  his  eyes  from  the  door  through 
which  he  still  appeared  to  be  staring  away  into  the 


132  THE  PLUNDERER 

distance,  and  it  was  easy  to  conjecture,  from  the 
expression  of  his  eyes,  that  he  was  seeing  a 
tragedy. 

"  I'm  sort  of  busted  up,"  he  went  on,  without 
looking  at  them.  "  You  see  I  had  a  brother 
over  there.  A  shift  boss,  he  was.  Him  and  me 
was  more  than  brothers.  We  was  friends.  It 
don't  seem  right  that  Hiram  was  down  there,  in 
the  dark,  when  the  big  cave  came — came  just  as 
if  the  whole  mountain  wanted  to  smash  them  men 
under  it.  It  don't  seem  right !  I  can't  quite  get 
it  all  yet.  I'm  goin'  over  there  on  the  stage  in 
the  mornin'.  He's  left  a  widder  and  a  couple  of 
little  shavers.  I'm  goin'  to  bring  'em  here." 

"  We  don't  quite  understand  you,"  Dick  said, 
hesitatingly,  and  with  sympathy  in  his  voice. 
"  We  haven't  heard  about  it — whatever  it  is.  I'm 
sorry  if " 

The  trader  straightened  up  from  where  he  had 
been  leaning  on  his  elbows  across  the  counter  and 
they  saw  that  his  face  was  drawn. 

"  Oh,  I  see,"  he  said,  in  the  same  slow,  hope- 
less voice.  "  I  forgot  you  men  don't  come  down 
here  very  often  and  that  my  driver  never  has  any- 
thing to  say  to  anybody.  Why,  it's  the  Blackbird 
mine  over  across  the  divide — on  the  east  spur. 
Bad,  old  fashioned  mine  she  was,  with  crawlin' 


THE  INCONSISTENT  BULLY      133 

ground.  Lime  streaks  all  through  the  formation 
and  plenty  of  water.  Nobody  quite  knows  how 
it  happened.  There  was  a  big  slip  over  there  a 
few  days  ago  on  the  four-hundred-foot  level. 
Thirty  odd  men  back  of  it.  Timbers  went  off, 
they  say,  like  a  gatlin'  gun.  I  just  can't  seem  to 
understand  how  they  didn't  handle  that  ground 
better.  It  don't  look  right  to  me !  " 

He  stooped  and  twisted  his  fingers  together 
and  the  palms  of  his  hands  gave  out  dry,,  rasp- 
ing sounds.  His  attitude  seemed  inconsistent 
with  the  immobility  of  his  face,  but  Dick  surmised 
that  he  was  trying  to  regain  control  of  his  emo- 
tions. He  had  a  keen  desire  to  know  more  of 
the  particulars  of  the  tragedy,  but  sensed  from 
the  storekeeper's  appearance  that  he  was  scarcely 
able  to  give  a  coherent  account  of  it.  His  words 
had  already  told  his  sorrow.  Bill's  voice  broke 
the  pause. 

'  We're  right  sorry  we  bothered  you  about  the 
supplies,"  he  said,  softly.  "  But  we  didn't  know, 
you  see.  I  reckon  we  ain't  in  any  big  hurry. 
You  just  take  your  time  about  fixin'  it  up.  We 
can  live  on  most  anything  for  a  day  or  two." 

The  storekeeper  looked  at  him  gratefully  and 
then  lowered  his  eyes  again.  He  turned  away 
from  them  with  a  long  sigh. 


i34  THE  PLUNDERER 

"  Nope,"  he  said.  "  Much  obliged.  I'll  send 
my  man  up  to-morrow.  Business  keeps  agoin'  on 
just  the  same,  no  matter  who  passes  out.  If  you 
or  me  died  to-night,  the  whole  world  would  just 
keep  joggin'  along.  I'll  send  up." 

They  turned  and  walked  out,  feeling  that  any- 
thing they  could  say  would  be  useless,  and  sound 
hollow,  and  they  did  not  speak  until  they  were 
some  distance  farther  up  the  street. 

"  He's  hard  hit,  poor  cuss !  "  Bill  said.  "  Won- 
der what  the  rest  of  it  was.  Lets  go  on  up  to- 
ward the  High  Light.  Seems  as  if  it  must  have 
been  pretty  bad.  What's  the  commotion  down 
there?" 

Ahead  of  them  they  saw  men  clustering  toward 
a  central  point,  and  others  who  had  been  in  the 
street  hurrying  forward  to  be  absorbed  into  the 
group.  They  quickened  their  steps  a  trifle,  spec- 
ulating as  to  whether  it  could  mean  a  brawl,  or 
something  relating  to  the  disaster  of  which  they 
had  just  learned.  It  proved  the  latter.  A  man 
was  standing  in  the  center  of  the  gathering  crowd 
with  the  reins  of  a  tired  horse  hanging  loosely 
over  his  arm.  He  was  talking  to  the  doctor,  who 
was  asking  him  questions. 

"  No,"  Bill  and  Dick  heard  him  say  as  they 
crowded  into  the  group,  "  there  ain't  nothin'  you 


THE  INCONSISTENT  BULLY      135 

can  do,  Doc.  It's  all  over  with  'em.  I  was  there 
until  quite  late.  God!  It's  awful!  " 

"  Anybody  get  out  at  all?  "  someone  asked. 

"  No.  That's  a  cinch.  You  see  they  were 
driving  back  in  and  feeling  for  the  ledge.  Block- 
ing out,  I  think.  Pretty  lean  ore,  over  there,  you 
know.  So  there  was  just  one  drift  away  from 
the  shaft,  and  it  was  in  that  she  caved." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence  and  then  a  half- 
dozen  questions  asked  almost  in  the  same  mo- 
ment. The  man  turned  first  to  one  and  then  to 
another  as  if  striving  to  decide  which  query 
should  be  answered  first,  and  shook  his  head 
hopelessly. 

"  They  didn't  have  a  chance,"  he  asserted. 
"  It  happened  three  days  ago,  as  you  all  know. 
They  sent  over  to  Arrapahoe  and  all  the  boys  over 
there  went  and  volunteered.  They  worked  just 
as  many  men  as  could  get  into  the  drift  at  a  time, 
and  they  spelled  each  other  in  half-hour  shifts, 
so's  every  man  could  do  his  best.  They  hadn't 
got  in  twenty  feet  before  they  saw  that  she  was 
bad.  Seemed  as  if  the  whole  drift  had  been 
wiped  out.  It  was  as  solid  as  rock  in  place — 
just  as  if  the  whole  mountain  had  slipped!  " 

"  Did  you  go  down,  Jim?  "  the  doctor  asked. 

For  reply  the  man  held  up  his  hands.     Dick, 


136  THE  PLUNDERER 

close  behind  him  and  peering  forward  to  see 
them  in  the  light  that  came  from  a  street  lamp, 
saw  they  were  a  mass  of  blisters  with  the  skin 
torn  away,  red  and  bleeding.  The  answer  was 
too  eloquent  to  require  words  for  the  man  they 
called  Jim  had  evidently  been  there  and  striving 
madly,  as  had  others,  in  the  attempt  to  rescue. 
There  was  a  surge  forward  as  the  crowd  pressed 
in,  each  man  trying  to  inspect  these  evidences  of 
the  tragedy.  The  questions  were  coming  faster 
and  from  all  sides.  Most  frequently  the  anxious 
demand,  coupled  with  a  pronounced  eagerness 
was,  "  Is  there  anything  any  of  us  can  do?  Can 
we  help  if  we  get  over  there?  " 

"  How  far  over  is  it?  "  Bill  asked  the  man 
nearest  him. 

"  Forty-miles,"  was  the  answer.  They  were  all 
willing  to  travel  that  far,  or  farther,  if  they  could 
be  of  any  assistance  whatever. 

"  No,  there's  no  use  in  going,"  the  man  in  the 
center  said.  "  There's  more  men  there  now  than 
can  be  handled,  and  all  they're  doing  is  to  try  to 
get  at  the  boys'  bodies.  It's  sure  that  they  can't 
live  till  they're  taken  out.  You  all  know  that ! 
They're  gone,  every  one  of  'em.  And  that  ain't 
the  worst.  They  left  twenty-six  widows,  most 
of  'em  with  children !  " 


THE  INCONSISTENT  BULLY     137 

A  groan  went  up  from  the  crowd.  The  word 
passed  back  along  like  the  waves  cast  up  by  a  rock 
thrown  into  the  center  of  a  pool  of  blackness. 
It  began  at  the  center  with  its  repetition  as  the 
words  were  conveyed  to  those  out  of  earshot. 
"  He  says  there's  twenty-six  widows.  He  says 
there's  a  lot  of  children." 

The  questions  were  flowing  inward  again. 

"  No,  boys,  there  ain't  a  thing  you  can  do,"  the 
man  they  called  Jim  repeated.  "  That  is,  there 
ain't  a  thing  can  be  done  for  the  boys  under- 
ground. They're  gone;  but  somebody  ought  to 
do  what  can  be  done  for  them  that's  left.  It's 
money  that  helps  the  most.  That's  the  best  way 
to  show  that  most  all  of  us  had  friends  who  went 
out." 

He  turned  and  climbed  back  into  his  saddle  in 
the  little  open  space,  and  there  was  another  mo- 
ment's silence.  The  crowd  looked  up  at  him 
now,  as  he  sat  there  in  the  center  of  the  light 
thrown  downward,  feebly,  from  the  lamp. 

"  Give  me  room,  boys,  won't  you?  "  he  asked. 
"  My  cayuse  is  about  all  in.  There  ain't  nothing 
more  to  tell.  There  ain't  a  thing  you  can  do; 
but  just  what  I  said.  Those  women  and  chil- 
dren will  need  money.  They're  all  broke." 

The  crowd  slowly  parted  and  he  rode  through 


i38  THE  PLUNDERER 

a  narrow  lane  where  his  stirrups  brushed  against 
those  in  the  front  ranks,  and  then  the  gathering 
began  to  twist  backward  and  forward,  to  disin- 
tegrate, to  spread  itself  outward  and  up  the  street 
of  the  camp.  It  talked  in  a  subdued  way  as  it 
went.  There  were  but  few  in  it  who  did  not 
know  and  picture  the  meaning  of  all  that  had 
been  imparted  by  the  courier — the  desperate 
alarm,  the  haggard,  sobbing  women  in  front  of  a 
hoist,  the  relays  of  men  who  were  ready  to  de- 
scend and  beat  hammer  on  steel  and  tear  madly 
at  slow-yielding  rock,  the  calls  for  a  rest  while 
carpenters  hastily  propped  up  tottering  roofs  and 
walls,  the  occasional  warning  shouts  when  men 
fell  back  to  watch  other  huge  masses  of  rock  fall 
into  the  black  drift,  and  the  instants  when  some 
rescuer,  overwrought,  thought  he  heard  sounds 
of  "  rock  telegraphing "  and  bade  the  others 
pause  and  listen.  There  were  those  among  the 
men  on  the  street  who  had  seen  the  desperate, 
melancholy  conclusions,  when  hope,  flaming  ever 
more  feebly,  guttered  out  as  a  burned  candle  and 
died.  There  those  among  them  who  had  been  in 
those  black  holes  of  despair  and  been  rescued,  to 
carry  scars  of  the  body  for  life,  but  recklessly 
forget  the  scars  of  the  mind,  the  horrors  of  des- 
pair. Comparative  strangers  to  the  camp  as 


THE  INCONSISTENT  BULLY      139 

were  the  two  men  of  the  Cross,  they  appreciated 
the  full  meaning  of  the  blow;  for  doubtless  there 
was  scarcely  a  man  around  them  who  had  not 
known  some  of  those  who  perished  in  that  ter- 
rible, lingering  agony.  Besides  they  were  miners 
all. 

"  Pretty  tough  luck,  isn't  it?  " 

They  found  themselves  confronted  by  the  doc- 
tor, who  had  turned  at  the  sound  of  their  voices 
as  they  resumed  conversation. 

"  We  just  learned  of  it,"  Dick  answered,  "  and 
know  scarcely  anything  whatever  of  it,  save  what 
we  just  heard." 

The  doctor  shook  his  head. 

"  It  has  been  almost  the  sole  topic  here  for  the 
last  two  days,"  he  said.  "  We  heard  of  it  after 
it  was  too  late  for  any  of  us  to  be  of  use.  I 
started  over,  but  got  word  from  a  confrere  of 
mine  from  a  camp  farther  east,  that  there  were 
already  four  doctors  on  the  spot  and  that  I  need 
not  come  unless  they  called  for  me.  Even  then 
they  were  hopeless.  Most  of  the  men  of  the 
Blackbird  were  good  men,  too.  The  kind  that 
have  families,  and  are  steady;  but  I  suppose 
from  what  I  hear  they  were  nearly  all  fellows 
who  have  been  idle  for  some  time,  or  have  just 
moved  into  the  district,  so  probably  they  had 


140  THE  PLUNDERER 

nothing  much  to  leave  in  the  way  of  support — 
for  those  left  behind. 

He  stopped  for  a  moment  and  peered  at  other 
men  who  were  passing  them. 

"  I  think  it  my  duty  to  do  something  in  that 
regard,"  he  said,  quietly.  "  I  believe  I  shall  get 
Mrs.  Meredith  to  call  a  meeting  out  in  front  of 
her  place.  Nearly  every  man  of  the  camp  goes 
there  at  some  time  or  another,  in  the  course  of 
the  evening.  Perhaps  I  could — " 

Again  he  stopped,  as  if  thinking  of  the  best 
plan. 

"  I  see,"  interpolated  the  miner,  almost  as 
his  younger  companion  was  about  to  offer  the 
same  suggestion.  "  Let  her  send  out  word  that 
every  man  in  the  camp  is  wanted.  Then  you 
give  them  the  last  news  and  get  them  to  do  what 
they  can.  That's  right." 

"  It  is  the  best  way,"  asserted  Dick,  agreeing 
with  the  project.  "  You  can  do  more  than  any 
one.  They  all  respect  and  know  you." 

They  left  him  to  make  his  way  toward  the 
High  Light  and  stood  at  the  borders  of  little 
gatherings  on  the  street,  gleaning  other  details 
of  the  tragedy,  for  nearly  an  hour,  and  then  were 
attracted  by  a  sound  below  them.  Men  were 
calling  to  one  another.  Out  in  front  of  the  High 


THE  INCONSISTENT  BULLY      141 

Light  two  torches  flared,  their  flames  glowing 
steadily  in  the  still  night  air  and  lighting  the 
faces  of  those  who  gathered  toward  them.  They 
went  with  the  street  current  and  again  found 
themselves  in  a  crowd;  but  it  was  not  so  dense  as 
that  first  one  they  had  encountered.  Men  stood 
in  groups,  thoughtfully,  with  hands  in  pockets, 
their  harsh,  strong  faces  rendered  soft  by  the 
light.  They  talked  together  with  a  quiet  and 
sad  sympathy,  as  if  in  that  hour  they  were  all 
of  one  family  up  there  in  the  heart  of  the  moun- 
tains from  which  they  tore  their  hard  livelihood. 
There  was  a  stir  from  the  nearest  store  and  a 
voice  called,  "Here,  Doc!  Here's  a  couple  of 
boxes  for  you  to  stand  on  so  they  can  see  you 
when  you  talk." 

Men  were  carrying  some  large  packing  cases, 
or  tumbling  them  end  over  end,  with  hollow, 
booming  noises,  to  form  a  crude  platform.  The 
boxes  clashed  together.  Two  men  holding  the 
torches  climbed  up  on  them  and  they  saw  two 
others  boosting  the  doctor  upward.  At  sight  of 
him  there  was  a  restraining  hiss  passed  round 
through  the  gathering  crowd,  commanding  silence. 
He  waited  for  it  to  become  complete. 

"  Men,"  he  said,  "  you  have  all  heard  the 
news.  Thirty-three  of  our  fellows  died  over 


i42  THE  PLUNDERER 

across  the  divide,  or  are  dying  now.  God  knows 
which!  God  grant  they  went  quickly!  " 

He  stopped  and  although  not  a  trained  orator, 
the  pause  could  have  been  no  more  effective.  Dick 
looked  around  him.  The  faces  of  those  nearest 
were  grave  and  unmoved,  as  if  carved  from  the 
mother  rock  of  the  country  in  which  they  delved; 
but  he  saw  a  light  in  their  frowning  eyes  that 
told  how  deeply  their  sympathies  were  stirred. 

"  I  didn't  get  up  here  to  talk  to  you  so  much 
about  them,  however,"  the  doctor  went  on, 
quietly,  "as  I  did  to  remind  you  that  out  of  thirty- 
three  of  these  men  there  were  twenty-six  who  left 
widows,  or  widows  and  children  behind  them. 
The  boys  over  there  did  all  they  could.  There 
were  a  hundred  and  fifty  men  who  tried  to  save 
them.  They  are  now  working  merely  to  get  their 
bodies.  We  couldn't  be  there  to  help  in  that;  so 
we  do  what  we  can  here.  And  that  doing  shall 
consist  in  helping  out  those  women  and  children. 
There's  a  box  down  here  in  front  of  me.  I  wish 
you'd  put  what  you  can  on  it." 

Bill,  staring  over  the  heads  of  those  around 
him,  saw  a  movement  among  those  nearest  the 
orator's  stand,  and  into  the  ring  of  light  stepped 
The  Lily.  Apparently  she  was  speaking  to  the 


THE  INCONSISTENT  BULLY      143 

doctor,  who  leaned  down  to  listen.  He  straight- 
ened up  and  called  for  silence. 

"  Mrs.  Meredith,"  he  said,  "  says  that  any 
man  here  who  has  no  money  with  him  can  sign 
what  he  wants  to  give  on  a  piece  of  paper,  and 
that  she  will  accept  it  as  she  would  a  pay-check 
and  forward  the  cash.  Then  on  pay-day  the  man 
can  come  and  redeem  his  paper  pledge." 

There  was  a  low  murmur  of  approval  swept 
round  over  the  crowd  which  began  to  move  for- 
ward with  slow  regularity.  The  doctor  dropped 
down  from  his  rostrum  as  if  his  task  were  done. 
The  torches  lowered  as  their  bearers  followed 
him  and  planted  them  beside  the  box  on  which 
coins,  big  round  silver  dollars  and  yellow  gold- 
pieces,  were  falling,  with  here  and  there  a  scrap 
of  paper.  No  one  stood  guard  over  that  collec- 
tion. The  crowd  was  thinning  out.  Dick 
turned  toward  his  friend  and  looked  up  at  him 
to  meet  eyes  as  troubled  as  his  own.  Each 
understood  the  other. 

"  I  wish  I  had  some  money  of  my  own,"  the 
younger  man  exclaimed;  "but  I  haven't  a  dollar 
that  actually  belongs  to  me.  I  am  going  to  bor- 
row a  little  from  Sloan." 

"  I  can't  do  that  much,"  was  the  sorrowful 
reply.  "  And  there  ain't  nothin'  I'd  rather  do 


144  THE  PLUNDERER 

in  the  world  than  walk  up  there  and  drop  a  couple 
of  hundred  on  that  pile.  I'm — I'm — " 

His  manner  indicated  that  he  was  about  to 
relapse  into  stronger  terms.  He  suddenly 
whirled.  A  hand  had  been  laid  on  his  sleeve  and 
a  low,  steady  voice  said,  "  Excuse  me,  I  heard  you 
talking  and  I  understand.  I  know  what  you  feel. 
I  want  you  to  permit  me." 

It  was  Mrs.  Meredith  who  had  walked  around 
behind  them  unobserved  and  now  held  out  her 
hand.  They  fell  back,  embarrassed.  She  ap- 
peared to  fathom  their  position. 

"  I  know,"  she  said.  "  I  wasn't  eavesdrop- 
ping. I  saw  you  here.  I  wanted  to  talk  to  you 
both  and  so,  well,  I  overheard.  Take  this,  won't 
you?  Please  permit  me." 

Bill  suddenly  reached  his  hand  out  and  found 
in  his  palm  a  roll  of  bills,  rare  in  that  camp.  He 
looked  at  them  curiously. 

"  There  is  five  hundred  dollars  in  it,"  she  said. 
"  That  permits  a  reasonable  gift  from  each  of 
you.  You  can  return  it  to  me  at  your  con- 
venience." 

Neither  of  them  had  spoken  to  her  in  all  this 
time.  Now  both  voiced  thanks.  But  a  mo- 
ment later  Dick  found  himself  talking  alone  and 
telling  her  that  he  would  send  her  a  check  within 


THE  INCONSISTENT  BULLY      145 

a  few  days  to  cover  the  amount  of  the  loan;  but 
she  was  not  looking  at  him.  He  saw  that  her 
eyes  were  fixed  on  the  big  man  by  his  side,  who 
stood  there  looking  down  into  her  face.  For 
some  reason  she  appeared  embarrassed  by  that 
direct  scrutiny,  and  her  eyes  fell,  and  wandered 
around  on  those  standing  nearest.  Suddenly 
she  frowned,  and  wondering  they  followed  the 
direction  of  her  look.  Not  ten  feet  from  them, 
standing  stockily  on  his  feet  with  his  high,  heavy 
shoulders  squared,  his  hands  thrust  deep  into  his 
pockets,  his  firm  face  unmoved,  his  hat  shading 
his  eyes,  stood  Bully  Presby.  He  made  no 
movement  toward  the  goal  of  the  contributors, 
and  seemed  to  have  no  intention  of  so  doing.  As 
if  to  escape  an  unpleasant  situation  The  Lily 
suddenly  walked  toward  him. 

"  Good-evening,  Mister  Presby,"  she  saluted, 
and  he  slowly  turned  his  head  and  stared  at  her. 
He  did  not  shift  his  attitude  in  the  least,  and  ap- 
peared granite-like  in  his  rigid  pose. 

"  I  suppose,"  she  said,  "  that  you  have  put 
something  into  the  contribution." 

"  I  have  not,"  he  replied  with  his  customary 
incisive,  harsh  voice.  "Why  should  I?  The 
contribution  means  nothing  to  me." 

The   brutality,   the   inhumanity   of   his   words 


i46  THE  PLUNDERER 

made  her  recoil  for  an  instant,  and  then  she 
recovered  her  fearlessness  and  dignity. 

"  I  might  have  known  that,"  she  said,  coolly. 
"  I  should  have  expected  nothing  more  from  you. 
The  lives  of  these — all  these — "  and  she  gestured 
toward  those  around — "mean  nothing  to  you. 
Nor  the  sufferings  and  poverties  of  those  depend- 
ent on  them." 

"  Certainly  not,"  he  answered  with  a  trace  of 
a  harsh  sneer  outlined  on  his  face.  "  If  they  get 
killed,  I  am  sorry.  If  they  live,  they  are  useful. 
If  they  are  lost,  others  take  their  places.  They 
are  merely  a  part  of  the  general  scheme.  They 
are  for  me  to  use." 

His  words  were  like  a  challenge.  He  watched 
her  curiously  as  if  awaiting  her  reply.  Dick 
felt  Bill  starting  forward,  angrily,  then  checked 
him. 

"  Wait!  "  he  whispered.  "  Let's  hear  what  he 
has  to  say." 

The  Lily  took  a  step  forward  to  arraign  him. 
Her  face  shone  whiter  than  ever  in  the  light  of 
the  torches. 

"And  that  is  all?     That  is  your  attitude?" 

He  did  not  answer,  but  stared  at  her  curiously. 
It  seemed  to  anger  her  more. 

"  I  wonder,"  she  said,  "  if  you  would  care  for 


THE  INCONSISTENT  BULLY      147 

my  estimate  of  you!  I  wonder  if  you  would 
care  for  the  estimate  of  those  around  you.  It 
does  not  seem  strange  that  you  are  called  by  the 
fitting  sobriquet  of  '  Bully  Presby.'  You  are 
that !  You  are  one  of  those  shriveled  souls  that 
fatten  on  the  toil  of  others-^-that  thrive  on 
others'  misfortunes  and  miseries.  My  God!  A 
usurer — a  pawnbroker,  is  a  prince  compared  to 
you.  You  are  without  compassion,  pity,  charity 
or  grace.  Your  code  is  that  of  winning  all,  the 
code  of  greed!  Listen  to  me.  You  doubtless 
look  down  on  me  as  a  camp  woman,  and  with  a 
certain  amount  of  scorn!  But  knowing  what  I 
am,  I  should  far  rather  be  what  I  am,  the  owner 
of  the  High  Light,  a  sordid  den,  than  to  be  you, 
the  owner  of  the  Rattler,  the  man  they  call  Bully 
Presby!" 

To  their  astonishment  he  leaned  his  head 
back  and  laughed,  deeply,  from  his  chest,  as  if 
her  anger,  her  scorn,  her  bitter  denunciation,  had 
all  served  to  amuse  him.  It  was  as  if  she  had 
flattered  him  by  her  characterizations.  She  was 
too  angry  to  speak  and  stood  regarding  him 
coldly  until  he  had  finished.  He  turned  and  ap- 
peared for  the  first  time  to  observe  the  men  of 
the  Croix  d'Or  scowling  at  him,  and  his  laugh 
abruptly  stopped.  He  scowled  back  at  them, 


148  THE  PLUNDERER 

and,  without  so  much  as  a  good-night  salutation 
turned  and  walked  away  and  lost  himself  in  the 
shadows  of  the  street. 

"  Oh,"  she  said,  facing  them  and  clenching  her 
hands,  "  sometimes  I  hate  that  man !  He  is  un- 
fathomable! There  have  been  times  when  I 
wondered  if  he  was  human." 

She  bit  her  lip  as  if  to  restrain  her  words,  and 
then  looked  up  at  the  partners. 

"  And  there  are  times,"  drawled  the  big  miner, 
"  when  I  wonder  how  long  I'll  be  able  to  keep  my 
hands  off  of  him.  And  one  of  those  times  has 
been  in  the  last  minute !  If  you  think  it  would 
do  any  good,  I'll — " 

She  looked  up  at  him  and  smiled,  for  the  first 
time  since  they  had  met.  She  interrupted  him. 

"  No,  the  only  way  you  can  do  any  good  is  to 
make  your  contribution.  I'll  go  with  you." 

They  walked  together  toward  the  box  which 
was  now  deserted,  save  by  the  doctor  and  one 
other,  who  were  scooping  the  money  into  a  water 
pail  they  had  secured  somewhere.  Bill  threw  his 
roll  of  bills  into  it  and  the  doctor  looked  up  and 
smiled. 

"  I  knew  you  would  come,"  he  said.  "  And 
that,  with  the  two  thousand  that  Mrs.  Meredith 
has  volunteered — " 


THE  INCONSISTENT  BULLY      149 

She  checked  him. 

"  That  was  to  be  my  secret.  Please,  none  of 
you,  speak  of  it  again." 

"  As  you  wish,"  replied  the  doctor.  "  And  I 
apologize.  Now  I  would  suggest  that  you  take 
charge  of  this  and  take  it  to  the  High  Light.  I'll 
send  it  over  to-morrow  by  Jim.  The  boys  have 
done  well." 

That  was  all  he  said,  and  yet  in  his  simple 
sentence  was  much.  The  camp  had  done  well. 
He  straightened  up  with  an  air  of  weariness. 

"  This  pail  is  pretty  heavy,"  he  said.  "  Won't 
you  take  it,  Mathews,  and  carry  it  over?  " 

The  miner  caught  it  up  in  his  arms,  fearing 
lest  the  bail  break  loose  under  its  weight.  The 
doctor  bade  them  good  night,  and  they  started 
toward  the  High  Light,  leaving  the  torch  man  to 
extinguish  his  flares.  She  talked  freely  as  she 
walked  between  them,  expressing  her  relief  that 
none  of  the  destitute  in  that  distant  camp  of 
mourning  would  suffer  unduly  after  the  receipt 
of  Goldpan's  offering.  As  they  entered  the  house 
of  the  lights  and  noise  the  bartender  nearest 
hailed  her,  wiped  his  hands  on  his  apron  and 
reached  out  an  envelope. 

"  Bully  Presby  was  in  here  about  an  hour  or 
two  ago,"  he  said,  "  and  left  this.  It  was  before 


150  THE  PLUNDEREP 

you  and  Doc  Mills  was  goin'  out  to  try  and  get 
the  boys  interested." 

She  tore  it  open,  then  flushed,  and  passed  it  to 
the  partners  who  together  read  it. 

"  I  hear,"  the  letter  read,  "  that  some  of  the 
men  who  were  killed  over  at  the  Blackbird  used 
to  work  for  me  down  in  California.  Also  that 
there  are  some  women  and  children  over  there 
who  may  have  a  hard  time  of  it.  Will  you  see 
to  it  that  this  goes  to  the  right  channels,  and  re- 
gard it  as  confidential?  I  don't  want  to  appear 
to  be  a  philanthropist  on  even  a  small  scale. 
Presby." 

Pinned  to  the  letter  was  a  check.  It  was  for 
ten  thousand  dollars.  Bill  lifted  it  in  his  fingers, 
scanned  each  word,  then  handed  it  to  Mrs. 
Meredith  who  stood  frowning  with  her  eyes  fixed 
on  the  floor. 

"  I've  known  burros,  and  other  contrary  cusses, 
in  my  time,"  he  said,  slowly,  "  but  this  feller 
Presby  has  'em  all  lookin'  as  simple,  and  plain, 
and  understandable,  as  a  cross-roads  guide-post." 

And  The  Lily,  contrite,  agreed. 


CHAPTER  IX 

WHERE  A  GIRL  ADVISES 

"  r  |  ^HERE'S  one  thing  about  you,  pardner, 
I  don't  quite  sabe,"  drawled  Bill  to  his 
employer  as  they  sat  in  front  of  their 
cabin  one  night,  after  discussing  the  assays  which 
Dick  made  his  especial  work.  "  You  ain't  as 
talkative  as  you  used  to  be.  Somethin's  on 
your  mind.  It's  more'n  two  weeks  now  since  I 
had  time  to  think  about  anything  but  the  green 
lead,  and  I'm  beginnin'  to  notice.  Where  the 
devil  do  you  go  every  mornin'  between  nine  and 
eleven?  " 

Dick  turned  toward  him  impulsively,  and  then 
made  no  reply,  other  than  to  laugh  softly.  Then 
slowly  he  felt  a  wave  of  embarrassment. 

"  Not  that  it's  any  of  my  business,  bem'  as 
you're  you  and  I'm  me;  but  we  were  pardners 
for  some  years  before  things  changed  and  made 
you  the  boss  and  me  the  hired  hand.  And  it 


152  THE  PLUNDERER 

may  be  I'm  undue  curious.  Who's  that  girl  you 
go  up  on  the  pipe  line  to  meet  every  mornin'?  " 

His  question  was  so  abrupt  that,  for  an  in- 
stant, the  younger  man  had  a  hot,  childish  anger; 
but  he  controlled  himself,  and  wondered  why  he 
should  have  been  annoyed  by  the  frank  interro- 
gation. 

"  Miss  Presby,  the  lumberman's  daughter,"  he 
said  crisply.  "  But  what  interests  me  most  is 
how  you  knew?  " 

The  elder  miner  slapped  his  leg  gleefully,  as 
if  pleased  with  a  joke,  and  said:  "Well,  I 
went  up  there  five  or  six  days  ago,  tryin'  to  find 
you,  because  I'd  lost  the  combination  to  the  safe, 
and  wanted  to  look  over  them  old  drawings.  I 
sneaked  back,  because  I  was  a  little  jealous  to  see 
you  sittin'  on  the  pipe  talkin'  right  friendly 
to  such  a  good-looker.  Three  evenin's  later 
while  you  were  workin'  on  them  mill  sam- 
ples, I  thought  I'd  like  to  see  the  whole  of 
the  line.  I  took  a  walk.  There's  been  a 
real  good  horse  trail  worked  into  the  ground 
up  there,  ain't  there?  And  it's  a  new  trail, 
too.  Seems  as  if  somebody  must  have  been 
riding  up  and  down  that  way  every  day  for  just 
about  two  weeks.  And  it's  serious,  too,  because 
you  don't  say  nothin'  to  a  man  you  was  pardners 


WHERE  A  GIRL  ADVISES         153 

with  for  more'n  seven  years.  Hey,  Dick!  What 
ails  you,  anyway?  " 

The  younger  man  was  on  his  feet  with  one  of 
his  fists  drawn  back,  in  an  attitude  of  extreme 
temper. 

"  Suppose  after  this  you  mind  your  own 
business?  " 

For  a  full  half  minute  the  elder  man  sat  there 
in  the  dusk,  and  then  said  slowly :  "  All  right, 
boy — I  mean,  Mister  Townsend — I  will  here- 
after." 

In  the  gloom  his  figure  seemed  suddenly  bent 
forward  more  than  usual,  and  his  voice  had  a 
note  of  terrible  hurt.  It  was  as  if  all  the  ties  of 
seven  years  of  vicissitude  had  been  arbitrarily 
cast  off  by  his  old  partner;  that  they  had  become 
master  and  man.  His  words  conveyed  an  in- 
describable sorrow,  and  loss. 

"Bill!" 

Dick's  arm  had  relaxed,  and  he  had  stepped 
closer.  Mathews  did  not  lift  his  head.  A 
hand,  pleading,  fell  on  his  shoulder,  and  rested 
there. 

"  Bill,  I  didn't  mean  it!  I'm— I'm— well,  I'm 
upset.  Something's  happened  to  me.  I  didn't 
seem  to  realize  it  till  just  now.  I'm — well,  thank 
you,  I'm  making  a  fool  of  myself." 


i54  THE  PLUNDERER 

The  faithful  gray  head  lifted  itself,  and  the 
gray  eyes  glowed  warmly  as  they  peered  in  the 
dusk  at  the  younger  man's  face. 

"Whe-e-w!"  he  whistled.  "It's  as  bad  as 
that,  is  it,  boy?  Just  forget  it,  won't  you?  That 
is,  forget  I  butted  in." 

Dick  sat  down,  hating  himself  for  such  an  un- 
usual outburst.  He  felt  foolish,  and  extremely 
young  again,  as  if  his  steadfast  foundations  of 
self-reliance  and  repression  had  been  proven 
nothing  more  than  sand. 

"  I  know  how  them  things  go,"  the  slow  voice, 
so  soft  as  to  be  scarcely  audible,  continued.  "  I 
was  young  once,  and  it  was  good  to  be  young. 
Not  that  I'm  old  now,  because  I'm  not;  but  be- 
cause when  a  feller  is  younger,  there  are  hot 
hollows  in  his  heart  that  he  don't  want  anybody 
to  know  about.  Only  don't  make  me  feel  again 
that  I  ought  to  'mister'  you.  I  don't  believe  I 
could  do  that.  It's  pretty  late  to  begin." 

Dick  went  to  his  bed  with  a  critical  admission 
of  the  truth,  and  from  any  angle  it  appeared 
foolish.  How  had  it  all  happened?  He  was 
not  prone  to  be  easy  of  heart.  He  had  known 
the  light,  fleeting  loves  of  boyhood,  and  could 
laugh  at  them;  but  they  had  been  different  to  this. 
And  it  had  come  on  him  at  a  time  when  every- 


WHERE  A  GIRL  ADVISES         155 

thing  was  at  stake,  and  when  his  undivided 
thoughts  and  attention  should  have  been  centered 
on  the  Croix  d'Or.  He  reviewed  his  situation, 
and  scarcely  knew  why  he  had  drifted  into  it, 
unless  it  had  been  through  a  desire  to  talk  to  some 
one  who  knew,  as  he  knew,  all  that  old  life  from 
which  he  had  been,  and  would  forever  be,  parted. 

Not  that  he  regretted  its  easy  scramble,  and  its 
plethora  of  civilized  concomitants;  for  he  loved 
the  mountains,  the  streams,  the  open  forests,  and 
the  physical  struggles  of  the  wild  places;  but — 
and  he  gave  over  reasoning,  and  knew  that  it  was 
because  of  the  charm  of  Miss  Presby  herself, 
and  that  he  wanted  her,  and  had  hoped  uncon- 
sciously. Sternly  arraigning  himself,  he  knew 
that  he  had  no  groundwork  to  hope,  and  nothing 
to  offer,  just  then;  that  he  must  first  win  with  the 
Croix  d'Or,  and  that  it  was  his  first  duty  to  win 
with  that,  and  justify  the  confidence  of  the  kindly 
old  Sloan  who  backed  him  with  hard  dollars. 

He  had  not  appreciated  how  much  the  daily 
meeting  of  Miss  Presby  meant  to  him  until,  on 
the  following  morning,  and  acting  on  his  hardly 
reached  resolution  of  the  night  before,  he  went 
up  for  what  might  be  the  last  time.  It  was  dif- 
ficult to  realize  that  the  short  summer  of  the  alti- 
tudes was  there  in  its  snlendid  growth,  and  that 


156  THE  PLUNDERER 

it  had  opened  before  his  unobserving  eyes,  passed 
from  the  tender  green  of  spring  to  the  deep- 
shaded  depths  of  maturity,  and  that  the  wild 
flowers  that  carpeted  the  open  slopes  had  made 
way  for  roses.  Even  the  cross  on  the  peak  was 
different,  and  it  came  to  him  that  he  had  not 
observed  it  in  the  weeks  he  had  been  climbing  to 
the  slope,  but  had  always  waited  eagerly  for  the 
light  of  a  woman's  face. 

She  came  cantering  up  the  trail,  and  waved  a 
gay  hand  at  him  as  she  rounded  the  bend  of  the 
crag.  There  was  a  frank  expectancy  in  her  face 
— the  expectancy  of  a  pleasant  hour's  visit  with 
a  good  comrade.  He  wondered,  vaguely  and 
with  new  scrutiny,  if  that  were  not  all — just 
friendliness.  They  talked  of  nothing;  but  his 
usual  bantering  tone  ^as  gone,  and,  quick  to 
observe,  she  divined  that  there  had  come  to  him 
a  subtle  change,  not  without  perturbation. 

"  You  don't  seem  talkative  to-day,"  she  ac- 
cused as  he  stood  up,  preparatory  to  going. 
"  Have  you  finished  work  on  your  pipe  line?  " 

He  flushed  slightly  under  the  bronze  of  his 
face  at  the  question,  it  being  thus  brought  home 
to  him  that  he  had  used  it  as  a  pretext  for  con- 
tinuing their  meetings  for  more  than  two  weeks 
after  that  task  was  completed  and  the  pipemen 


WHERE  A  GIRL  ADVISES         157 

scattered — perhaps  working  in  some  subway  in 
New  York  by  that  time. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  the  work  is  finished.  I  shall 
not  come  up  here  again  unless-  it  is  for  the  sole 
purpose  of  seeing  you." 

There  was  something  in  his  tone  that  caused 
her  to  glance  up  at  him  and  there  was  that  in  his 
eyes,  on  his  face,  in  his  bearing  of  restraint,  that 
caused  her  to  look  around  again,  as  if  to  escape, 
and  hastily  begin  donning  her  gloves.  She  pulled 
the  fingers,  though  they  fitted  loosely,  as  if  she 
had  difficulty  with  them — even  as  though  they 
were  tight  gloves  of  kid,  and  said:  "Well,  you 
might  do  that,  sometimes — when  you  have  time; 
but  you  mustn't  neglect  your  work.  I  come  here 
because  it  is  my  favorite  ride.  You  must  not 
come  merely  to  talk  to  me  when  there  are  other 
duties." 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  endeavoring  to  appear  un- 
concerned. "  The  Croix  d'Or  is  apt  to  be  a  most 
insistent  tyrant." 

"  And  it  should  come  first !  "  He  was  obtuse 
for  the  instant  in  his  worriment,  and  did  not 
catch  the  subtle  shade  of  bitterness  in  which  she 
spoke. 

She  tugged  at  the  reins  of  her  horse,  and  the 
animal  reluctantly  tore  loose  a  last  mouthful  of 


1 58  THE  PLUNDERER 

the  succulent  grass  growing  under  the  moisture 
and  shadow  of  the  big  steel  pipe,  and  stood  ex- 
pectantly waiting  for  her  to  mount.  She  was  in 
the  .saddle  before  Dick  could  come  around  to  her 
side  to  assist  her.  He  made  a  last  desperate 
compromise,  finding  an  excuse. 

"  When  I  feel  that  I  must  see  you,  because 
you  are  such  a  good  little  adviser,  I  shall  come 
back  here,"  he  said,  "  morning  after  morning, 
in  the  hope  of  seeing  you  and  unburdening  my 
disgruntlement." 

She  laughed,  as  if  it  were  a  joke. 

"  I'm  afraid  I'm  not  a  very  good  miner,"  she 
said,  "  although  I  suppose  I  ought  to  be  a  yellow- 
legged  expert,  having  been  brought  up  somewhere 
within  sound  of  the  stamps  all  my  life.  Good 
luck  to  you.  Good-by." 

His  reply  was  almost  a  mumble,  and  the  black 
horse  started  down  the  trail.  He  watched  her, 
with  a  sinking,  hungry  heart.  Just  as  the  crag 
was  almost  abreast  of  her  mount,  she  turned  and 
called  back:  "  Oh,  I  forgot  to  say  that  I  shall 
probably  come  here  almost  every  day." 

He  did  not  understand,  until  long  afterward, 
the  effort  that  speech  cost  her;  nor  did  he  know 
ever  that  her  face  was  suffused  when  her  horse, 
startled,  sprang  out  of  sight  at  the  touch  of  her 


WHERE  A  GIRL  ADVISES         159 

spurs.  He  did  not  know,  as  he  stood  there, 
wishing  that  he  had  called  her  back,  that  she  was 
riding  recklessly  down  the  road,  hurt,  and  yet 
inclined  to  be  strangely  happy  over  that  parting 
and  all  it  had  confessed.  With  a  set  face,  as  if 
a  whole  fabric  of  dreams  had  been  wrenched 
from  his  life,  the  miner  turned  and  Walked 
slowly  over  the  trail,  worn  by  his  own  feet,  which 
led  him  back  to  the  Croix  d'Or,  and  the  struggle 
with  the  stubborn  rock. 

As  he  topped  the  hill  he  suddenly  listened,  and 
his  steps  quickened.  From  below  a  new  sound 
had  been  added  to  the  threnody  of  the  hills;  a 
new  note,  grumbling  and  roaring,  insistent  and 
strong.  Its  message  was  plain.  The  mill  of 
the  Cross  was  running  again  for  the  first  time  in 
years;  and,  even  as  he  looked  down  on  the  red 
roof,  the  whistle  in  the  engine-house  gave  a  series 
of  cheerful  toots  in  salute  of  the  fact. 

Down  on  the  flat  in  front  of  the  long  structure 
which  held,  in  its  batteries,  almost  two-score 
stamps,  a  tall  figure  came  out,  and  looked  around 
as  if  seeking  him,  and  then,  casting  its  eyes  up- 
ward, beheld  him,  and  lifted  a  battered  hat  and 
swung  it  overhead.  It  was  Bill,  rejoicing  in  his 
work. 

A  car  of  ore  slid  along  the  tramway,  with  the 


160  THE  PLUNDERER 

carboy  dangling  one  leg  over  the  back  end  while 
steadying  himself  by  the  controller,  as  if  he  had 
been  thus  occupied  for  years.  Dick  tore  his  hat 
off,  threw  it  in  the  air,  and  shouted,  and  raced 
down  the  hill.  From  now  on  it  must  be  work; 
unless  they  met  with  great  success — then — he 
dared  not  stop  to  think  of  what  then. 

He  hastened  on  down  to  the  mill  and  entered 
the  door.  Everything  about  it,  from  the  dump- 
ing of  the  cars  sixty  feet  above,  the  wrench  of 
the  crushers  breaking  the  ore  into  smaller  frag- 
ments, the  clash  of  the  screens  as  it  came  on 
down  to  the  stamps,  and  their  terrific  "  jiggety- 
jig-jig,"  roared,  throbbed,  and  trembled.  Every 
timber  in  the  structure  seemed  to  keep  pace  with 
that  resistless  shaking  as  the  tables  olid  to  and 
fro,  dripping  from  the  water  percolating  at  their 
heads,  to  distribute  the  fine  silt  of  crushed, 
muddy  ore  evenly  over  the  plates  in  the  steady 
downward  slant.  Already  the  bright  plates  of 
copper,  coated  with  quicksilver,  were  catching, 
retaining,  amalgamating  the  gold. 

"  The  venners  need  a  little  more  slant,  don't 
you  think? "  bellowed  his  partner,  with  his 
hands  cupped  and  held  close  against  Dick's  ear 
in  the  effort  to  make  himself  heard  in  that  pan- 


WHERE  A  GIRL  ADVISES         161 

demonium  where  millmen  worked  the  shift 
through  without  attempting  to  speak. 

In  the  critical  calculation  of  the  professional 
miner,  Dick  forgot  all  other  affairs,  and  leaned 
down  to  see  the  run  of  water.  He  nodded  his 
head,  beckoned  to  the  mill  boss,  and  by  well- 
known  signs  indicated  his  wish.  He  scrambled 
above  and  studied  the  pulp,  slipping  it  through 
his  fingers  and  feeling  its  fineness,  and  speculat- 
ing whether  or  not  they  would  be  troubled  with 
any  solution  of  lead  that  would  render  the  mill- 
ing difficult  and  slime  the  plates  so  that  the  gold 
would  escape  to  go  roistering  down  the  creek 
with  waste  water.  It  did  feel  very  slippery,  and 
he  was  reassured.  He  was  eager  to  get  to  the 
assay-house  and  make  his  first  assay  of  "  tail- 
ings," refuse  from  the  mill,  to  discover  what 
percentage  of  gold  they  were  saving,  and,  in  par- 
lance, "  How  she  would  run  on  mill  test." 

Fascinated  in  his  inspection  and  direction  of 
certain  minor  changes,  he  was  astonished  when 
the  noise  suddenly  dropped  from  fortissimo  to 
a  dull  whine,  as  the  mill  slowed  down  to  a  stop 
for  the  noon  hour.  And  the  afternoon  passed 
as  quickly  while  he  worked  over  the  bucking 
board — a  plate  used  to  crush  ore  for  assaying — 
in  the  assay-house,  and  watched  the  gasoline 


1 62  THE  PLUNDERER 

flare  and  fume  in  his  furnaces  to  bring  the  little 
cupels,  with  their  mass  of  powdered,  weighed, 
and  numbered  samples,  to  a  molten  state.  He 
took  them  out  with  his  tongs,  watched  them  cool, 
and  weighed,  on  the  scales  that  could  tell  the 
weight  of  a  lead  pencil  mark  on  a  sheet  of  paper, 
the  residue  of  gold,  thus  making  his  computa- 
tions. He  was  not  pleased  with  the  result.  The 
green  lead  was  not  as  rich  as  they  had  believed. 

"  It  won't  pay  more  than  fifty  cents  a  ton 
with  the  best  milling  we  can  do,"  he  said  to 
Bill,  who  came  eagerly  into  the  assay  office. 

"  But  you  know  the  old  idea — that  she  gets 
richer  as  we  go  down?"  his  partner  asserted. 
"  If  it  pays  fifty  cents  a  ton  at  the  mill  plates, 
we'll  open  up  the  face  of  the  ledge  and  put  on  a 
day  and  night  shift.  We  can  handle  a  heap  of 
ore  with  this  plant.  It  begins  to  look  to  me  as 
if  the  Cross  is  all  to  the  good.  Come  on.  Let's 
go  down  to  the  power-house  and  see  how  things 
look  down  there  when  we're  working." 

They  had  been  contemplating  a  new  timber 
road,  and,  after  visiting  the  power  plant  and 
finding  it  trim,  and  throbbing  with  its  new  life, 
they  cut  across  and  debouched  into  the  public 
road  leading  up  the  canon,  by  the  banks  of  the 
stream,  to  the  Rattler.  When  almost  at  the  fork, 


WHERE  A  GIRL  ADVISES         163 

where  their  own  road  branched  off  and  crossed 
the  stream  to  begin  its  steep  little  climb  up  to 
the  Croix  d'Or,  they  saw  a  man  standing  on  the 
apron  of  the  bridge,  and  apparently  listening  to 
the  roar  of  their  mill.  His  back  was  toward 
them,  and  seemingly  he  was  so  absorbed  in  the 
sounds  of  industry  from  above  that  he  did  not 
hear  them  approach  until  their  feet  struck  the 
first  planks  leading  to  the  heavy  log  structure. 
He  turned  his  head  slowly  toward  them,  and 
they  recognized  him  as  Bully  Presby.  It  was 
the  first  time  either  of  them  had  seen  him  since 
the  evening  in  the  camp. 

"  So  you're  running,  eh?  "  he  asked  Dick  with- 
out any  preliminary  courtesy. 

"  Yes,  we  started  the  mill  to-day." 

"On  ore,  or  waste?"  There  was  a  sneer  in 
his  question  which  caused  Dick  to  stiffen  a  trifle; 
and  Bill  frowned,  as  if  the  question  carried  an 
insult. 

Still  the  younger  man  was  inclined  to  avoid 
words. 

"  Naturally,  we  shouldn't  put  waste  through 
the  mill,"  he  said  coldly.  "  We  have  opened  up 
an  old  vein  which  the  other  managers  did  not 
seem  to  think  worth  while." 

"  And  so,  I  suppose,  showing  superior  knowl- 


1 64  THE  PLUNDERER 

edge,  you  will  demonstrate  that  the  men  before 
you  were  a  set  of  dubs?  Humph!  From  babes 
and  fools  come  wisdom!  " 

His  voice  was  hard  and  cynical,  and  his  grim 
lips  curled  with  a  slightly  contemptuous  twitch. 
The  hot,  impulsive  streak  in  Dick  leaped  upward. 
His  eyes  were  angry  when  he  answered. 

"  If  you  apply  the  latter  to  me,"  he  retorted 
hotly,  "  you  are  going  pretty  far.  I  don't  know 
what  business  it  is  of  yours.  We  have  never 
asked  you  for  any  advice,  and  we  don't  want 
any.  I  expect  no  favors  from  any  one,  and  if  I 
did,  am  certain,  in  view  of  your  attitude,  that  I 
shouldn't  ask  them  from  you." 

"Steady!  Steady,  boy!"  admonished  his 
partner's  drawling  voice  at  his  side.  Dick  did 
not  utter  other  words  that  were  surging  to  his 
tongue,  and  finished  with  an  angry  shrug  of  his 
shoulders. 

Bill  turned  coolly  to  the  owner  of  the  Rattler, 
and  appeared  to  probe  him  with  his  eyes;  and 
his  stare  was  returned  with  one  as  searching  as 
his  own. 

"  Who  are  you?  "  Presby  asked,  as  if  the  big 
miner  were  some  man  he  had  not  noticed  before. 

"  Me?  My  name's  Mathews.  I'm  superin- 
tendent of  the  Croix  d'Or,"  Bill  answered,  as 


WHERE  A  GIRL  ADVISES         165 

calmly  as  if  the  form  of  question  had  been  ig- 
nored. 

"  And  I  suppose  the  young  Mister  Townsend 
relies  on  you  for  advice,  and  that  he " 

"  He  don't  need  to  rely  on  any  one  for  ad- 
vice," interrupted  the  soft,  repressed  voice.  "  I 
rely  on  him.  He  knows  more  than  I  do.  And 
say,"  he  added,  taking  a  step  toward  Bully 
Presby,  and  suddenly  appearing  to  concentrate 
himself  with  all  his  muscles  flexed  as  if  for  action, 
"  I've  mined  for  thirty-five  years.  And  I've  met 
some  miners.  And  I've  never  met  one  who  had 
as  little  decency  for  the  men  on  the  next  claim, 
or  such  bullying  ways  as  you've  got." 

Presby's  face  did  not  change  in  the  least,  nor 
did  he  shift  his  eyes.  There  was  an  instant's 
pause,  and  he  showed  no  inclination  to  speak. 

'  'Most  every  one  around  these  diggings 
seems  to  be  kind  of  buffaloed  by  you,"  Bill  added; 
"  but  I  sort  of  reckon  we  ain't  like  them.  I'm 
handin'  it  to  you  right  straight,  so  you  and  me 
won't  have  any  trouble  after  this,  because  if  we 
do — well,  we'd  have  to  find  out  which  was  the 
better  man." 

Bully  Presby's  eyes  flashed  a  singular  look. 
It  seemed  as  if  they  carried  something  of  ap- 
proval, and  at  the  same  time  a  longing  to  test 


1 66  THE  PLUNDERER 

the  question  of  physical  superiority.  And  then, 
abruptly,  he  laughed.  Astonished  by  this 
strange,  complex  character,  Bill  relaxed,  and 
turned  toward  his  partner.  Dick,  seeing  that  the 
interview  was  ended,  as  far  as  the  necessity  for 
saying  anything  was  concerned,  moved  across 
the  bridge,  and  Bill  took  a  last  hard  stare  at  the 
mine  owner.  The  latter  laughed  again,  with 
his  cold,  cynical  rumble. 

"  I  think,"  he  said,  "  that  when  the  Cross 
shuts  down  for  good,  I'd  like  to  give  you  a  job. 
When  it  does,  come  and  see  me." 

Without  another  look,  word,  or  sign  of  inter- 
est, he  turned  his  back  on  them,  and  marched  up 
the  hill  toward  the  Rattler. 


CHAPTER  X 

TROUBLE    STALKS    ABROAD 

AUGUST  had  come,  with  its  broiling  heat 
at  midday  and  its  chill  at  night,  when 
the  snow,  perpetual  on  the  peaks,  sent 
its  cold  breezes  downward  to  the  gulches  below. 
Here  and  there  the  grass  was  dying.  The  lines 
on  Dick's  brows  had  become  visible;  and  even 
Mathews'  resolute  sanguinity  was  being  tested 
to  the  utmost.  The  green  lead  was  barely  pay- 
ing expenses.  There  had  come  no  justification 
for  a  night  shift,  and  use  of  all  the  batteries  of 
the  mill,  for  the  ledge  of  ore  was  gradually,  but 
certainly,  narrowing  to  a  point  where  it  must 
eventually  pinch  out. 

Five  times,  in  as  many  weeks,  Dick  had 
crossed  the  hill  and  waited  for  Miss  Presby. 
Twice  he  had  been  bitterly  disappointed,  and 
three  times  she  had  cantered  around  to  meet  him. 
Their  first  meeting  had  been  constrained.  He 
felt  that  it  was  due  to  his  own  bald  discovery 

167 


1 68  THE  PLUNDERER 

that  he  wanted  her  more  than  anything  in  life, 
and  was  debarred  from  telling  her  so.  In  the 
second  meeting  she  had  been  the  good  comrade, 
and  interested,  palpably,  in  the  developments  at 
the  Croix  d'Or. 

'  You  should  sink,  I  believe,"  she  had  said 
hesitatingly,  as  if  with  a  delicate  fear  that  she 
was  usurping  his  position.  "  I  know  this  district 
very  well,  indeed;  and  there  isn't  a  mine  along 
this  range  that  has  paid  until  it  had  gone  the 
depth.  Do  I  talk  like  a  miner?  " 

She  laughed,  in  cheerful  carelessness  as  if  his 
worries  meant  but  little  to  her. 

'  You  see,  I've  heard  so  much  of  mines  and 
mining,  although  my  father  seldom  talks  of  them 
to  me,  that  I  know  the  geological  formation  and 
history  of  this  district  like  a  real  miner.  I  played 
with  nothing  but  miners'  children  from  the  time 
I  was  so  high,  pigtails  and  pinafores,  until  I  was 
this  high,  short  skirts  and  frocks." 

She  indicated  the  progressive  stages  of  her 
growth  with  her  riding  crop,  as  if  seeing  herself 
in  those  younger  years. 

"  Then  my  father  sent  me  to  an  aunt,  in  New 
York,  with  instructions  that  I  was  to  be  taught 
something,  and  to  be  a  lady.  I  believe  I  used  to 
eat  with  my  knife  when  I  first  went  to  her  home." 


TROUBLE  STALKS  ABROAD       169 

She  leaned  back  and  laughed  until  the  tears 
welled  into  her  eyes. 

"  She  was  a  Spartan  lady.  She  cured  me  of  it 
by  rapping  my  knuckles  with  the  handle  of  a  sil- 
ver-plated knife.  My,  how  it  hurt!  I  feel  it  yet! 
I  wonder  that  they  were  not  enlarged  by  her  re- 
peated admonitions." 

Dick  looked  at  them  as  she  held  them  remi- 
niscently  before  her,  and  had  an  almost  irresisti- 
ble desire  to  seize  and  crush  the  long,  slender, 
white  fingers  in  his  own.  But  the  end  of  the  meet- 
ing had  been  commonplace,  and  they  had  parted 
again  without  treading  on  embarrassing  ground. 

Dick  had  heard  no  more  from  the  owner  of 
the  Rattler,  save  indirectly,  nor  met  him  since  the 
strained  passage  of  the  bridge;  but  mess-house 
gossip,  creeping  through  old  Bells,  who  recog- 
nized no  superiors,  and  calmly  clumped  into  the 
owner's  quarters  whenever  he  felt  inclined,  said 
that  the  neighboring  mine  was  prodigiously  pros- 
perous. 

"  I  heard  down  in  Goldpan,"  he  squeaked  one 
night,  "  that  Wells  Fargo  takes  out  five  or  six 
bars  of  bullion  for  him  every  mill  clean-up.  And 
you  can  bet  none  of  it  ever  gets  away  from  that 
old  stiff." 

"  But  how  does  this  news  leak  out?  "   Dick 


1 70  THE  PLUNDERER  " 

asked,  wondering  at  such  a  tale,  when  millmen 
and  miners  were  distinguished  for  keeping  in- 
violate the  secrets  of  the  property  on  which  they 
worked. 

"  Wells  Fargo,"  the  engineer  answered. 
"  None  of  the  boys  would  say  anything.  He  pays 
top  wages  and  hires  good  men.  Got  to  hand  that 
to  him.  He  brags  there  ain't  no  man  so  high- 
priced  that  he  can't  make  money  off'n  him — Bully 
Presby  does.  And  they  ain't  no  better  miner 
than  him  on  earth.  He  can  smell  pay  ore  a  mile 
underground — Bully  Presby  can." 

The  old  man  suddenly  looked  at  the  superin- 
tendent, and  said:  "  Say,  Bill.  You  been  down 
to  the  camp  a  few  times,  ain't  you?  " 

"  Yes,  we've  been  down  there  several  times. 
Why?" 

"  Well,  I  suppose  you  know  they's  a  lot  of 
talk  goin'  around  that  the  Cross  is  workin'  in 
good  pay  now?  " 

"  Oh,  I've  heard  it ;  but  don't  pay  any  attention 
when  it's  not  so." 

Bells  Park  leaned  farther  over,  and  lowered 
his  shrill,  garrulous  voice  to  a  thin  murmur. 

"  Well,  I  cain't  tell  you  what  it  is,  but  I  want 
to  give  you  the  right  lead.  When  that  gets  to 


TROUBLE  STALKS  ABROAD       171 

goin'  on  about  new-comers  in  the  Blue  Mountains 
— fellers  like  you  be — look  out  for  storms." 

"Go  on!  You're  full  of  stuff  again!"  Bill 
gibed,  with  his  hearty  laugh.  "  If  we'd  listened 
to  all  the  mysterious  warnin's  you've  handed  us 
since  we  came  up  here,  Bells,  we'd  been  like  a 
dog  chasin'  his  tail  around  when  it  happened  to 
be  bit  off  down  to  the  rump  and  no  place  to  get 
hold  of.  Better  look  out!  Humph!" 

The  old  engineer  got  up  in  one  of  his  tan- 
trums, fairly  screamed  with  rage,  threatened  to 
leave  as  soon  as  he  could  get  another  job,  and 
then  tramped  down  the  hill  to  the  cabin  he  oc- 
cupied with  the  other  engineer.  But  that  was 
not  new,  either,  for  he  had  made  the  same  threat 
at  least  a  half-dozen  times,  and  yet  the  men  from 
the  Coeur  d'Alenes  knew  that  nothing  could  drive 
him  away  but  dismissal. 

It  was  but  two  or  three  days  later  that  the 
partners,  coming  from  the  assay-house  to  the 
mess  late,  discovered  a  stranger  talking  to  the 
men  outside  under  the  shade  of  a  great  clump  of 
tamaracks  that  nestled  at  the  foot  of  a  slope. 
They  passed  in  and  sat  down  at  their  table,  won- 
dering who  the  visitor  could  be.  The  cook's 
helper,  a  mute,  served  them,  and  they  were  alone 
when  they  were  attracted  by  a  shrill,  soft  hiss 


172  THE  PLUNDERER 

from  the  window.  They  looked,  and  saw  Bells 
Park.  Nothing  but  his  head,  cap-crowned,  was 
visible  as  he  stood  on  tiptoe  to  reach  the 
opening. 

"  I  told  you  to  look  out,"  he  said  warningly. 
"  Old  Mister  Trouble's  come.  Don't  give  any- 
thing. Stand  pat.  A  walkin'  delegate  from 
Denver's  here.  God  knows  why.  Look  out." 

His  head  disappeared  as  if  it  were  a  jack-in- 
the-box,  shut  down;  and  the  partners  paused 
with  anxious  eyes  and  waited  for  him  to  reappear. 
Dick  jumped  to  his  feet  and  walked  across  to  the 
window.  No  one  was  in  sight.  He  went  to  the 
farther  end  of  the  mess-house  and  peered  through 
a  corner  of  the  nearest  pane.  Out  under  the 
tamaracks  the  stranger  was  orating,  and  punctu- 
ating his  remarks  with  a  finger  tapping  in  a  palm. 
His  words  were  not  audible;  but  Dick  saw  that 
he  was  at  least  receiving  attention.  He  returned 
to  the  table,  and  told  Bill  what  he  had  seen.  The 
latter  was  perturbed. 

"  It  looks  as  if  we  were  goin'  to  have  an  argu- 
ment, don't  It?  "  he  asked,  voicing  his  perplexity. 

"  But  about  what?  "  Dick  insisted.  "  We  pay 
the  union  scale,  and,  while  I  don't  know,  I  be- 
lieve there  isn't  a  man  on  the  Cross  that  hasn't  a 
card." 


TROUBLE  STALKS  ABROAD       173 

"  Well,"  replied  his  partner,  "  we'll  soon  see. 
Finished?" 

As  they  walked  to  the  office,  men  began  to 
hurry  across  the  gulch  toward  the  hoist,  others 
toward  the  mill,  and  by  the  time  they  were  in 
their  cabin  the  whistle  blew.  It  was  but  a  minute 
later  that  they  heard  someone  striding  over  the 
porch,  and  the  man  they  assumed  to  be  the  walk- 
Ing  delegate  entered.  He  was  not  of  the  usual 
stamp,  but  appeared  intent  on  his  errand.  Save 
for  a  certain  air  of  craftiness,  he  was  represen- 
tative and  intelligent.  He  was  quietly  dressed, 
and  gave  the  distinct  impression  that  he  had 
come  up  from  the  mines,  and  had  known  a  ham- 
mer and  drill — a  typical  "  hard-rock  man." 

"  Gentlemen,"  he  said,  "  I  am  representing  the 
Consolidated  Miners'  Association." 

He  drew  a  neat  card  from  a  leather  case  in 
his  pocket,  and  presented  it,  and  was  asked  to 
seat  himself. 

"What  can  we  do  for  you?"  Dick  asked, 
wasting  no  time  on  words. 

"  I  suppose  this  mine  is  fair?" 

"  Yes.    It  is  straight,  as  far  as  I  know." 

"  It  has  no  agreement." 

"  But  we  are  ready  to  sign  one  whenever  it  is 
presented." 


174  THE  PLUNDERER 

The  delegate  drew  a  worn  wallet  from  his 
pocket,  extracted  a  paper,  and  tendered  it. 

"  I  anticipated  no  trouble,"  he  said,  but  with- 
out smiling  or  giving  any  sign  of  satisfaction. 
"  Would  you  mind  looking  that  over,  and  seeing 
if  it  meets  with  your  approval?  " 

Dick  stepped  to  the  high  desk  at  the  side  of 
the  room  which  he  had  been  utilizing  as  a  draw- 
ing board,  laid  the  sheet  out,  and  began  reading 
it,  while  Bill  stood  up  and  scanned  it  across  his 
shoulders.  Bill  suddenly  put  a  stubby  finger  on. 
a  clause,  and  mumbled:  "  That's  not  right." 

Dick  slowly  read  it;  and,  before  he  had  com- 
pleted the  involved  wording,  the  finger  again 
clapped  down  at  another  section.  "  Nor  that. 
Don't  stand  for  it !  " 

"What  do  you  want,  anyhow?"  Bill  de- 
mantled,  swinging  round  and  facing  the  delegate. 

The  latter  looked  at  him  coolly  and  exasper- 
atingly  for  a  moment,  then  said:  "What  posi- 
tion do  you  occupy  here,  my  man?  " 

Dick  whirled  as  if  he  had  been  struck  from 
behind. 

"What  position  does  he  occupy?  He  is  my 
superintendent,  and  my  friend.  Anything  he 
objects  to,  or  sanctions,  I  object  to,  or  agree  with. 


TROUBLE  STALKS  ABROAD       175 

Anything  he  says,  I'll  back  up.     Now  I'll  let  him 
do  the  talking." 

The  delegate  calmly  flicked  the  ash  from  a 
cigar  he  had  lighted,  puffed  at  it,  blew  the  smoke 
from  under  his  mustache  toward  the  ceiling,  and 
looked  at  the  thin  cloud  before  answering.  It 
was  as  if  he  had  come  Intent  on  creating  a  dis- 
turbance through  studied  insolence. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  without  noticing  the  hot,  an- 
tagonistic attitude  of  the  mine  owner,  "  what  do 
you  think  of  the  proffered  agreement?  " 

"I  think  it's  no  good!"  answered  Mathews, 
facing  him.  "  It's  drawn  up  on  a  number-one 
scale.  This  mine  ain't  in  that  class." 

"  Oh!     So  you've  signed  'em  before." 

"  I  have.  A  dozen  times.  This  mine  has  but 
one  shift — the  regular  day  shift.  It  has  but  one 
engineer  and  a  helper.  It  has  but  one  mill  boss." 

;<  Working  eight  batteries?" 

"  No.  You  know  we  couldn't  work  eight  bat- 
teries with  one  small  shift." 

'*  Well,  you've  got  to  have  an  assistant  mi11 
man  at  the  union  scale,  you  know,"  insisted  the 
delegate. 

"What  to  do?  To  loaf  around,  I  suppose." 
Bill  retorted. 

"And  you've    got  to    have  a  turn    up  in  the 


i76  THE  PLUNDERER 

engine-house.  You  need  another  hoisting  en- 
gineer," continued  the  delegate,  as  if  all  these 
matters  had  been  decided  by  him' beforehand. 

Dick  thought  that  he  might  gain  a  more 
friendly  footing  by  taking  part  in  the  conversa- 
tion himself. 

"  See  here,"  he  said.  "  The  Croix  d'Or  isn't 
paying  interest.  Maybe  we  aren't  using  the  re- 
quisite number  of  men  as  demanded  under  this 
rating;  but  they  are  all  satisfied,  and " 

"  I  don't  know  about  that,"  interrupted  the 
delegate,  with  an  air  of  insolent  assurance. 

"  And  if  we  can't  go  on  under  the  present  con- 
ditions, we  may  as  well  shut  down,"  Dick  con- 
cluded. 

"  That's  up  to  you,"  declared  the  delegate, 
with  an  air  of  disinterest.  "  If  a  mine  can't  pay 
for  the  working,  it  ought  to  shut  down." 

The  partners  looked  at  each  other.  There 
was  a  mutual  question  as  to  whether  it  would  be 
policy  to  throw  the  delegate  out  of  the  door. 
Plainly  they  were  in  a  predicament,  for  the  man 
was  master,  in  his  way. 

"  Look  here,"  Bill  said,  accepting  the  respon- 
sibility, "  this  ain't  right.  You  know  it  ain't. 
We're  in  another  class  altogether.  You  ought 
to  put  us,  at  present,  under " 


TROUBLE  STALKS  ABROAD       177 

"  It  is  right,"  belligerently  asserted  the  dele- 
gate. "  I've  looked  it  all  over.  You'll  agree  to 
it,  or  I'll  declare  the  Croix  d'Or  unfair." 

He  had  arisen  to  his  feet  as  if  arbitrarily  to 
end  the  argument.  For  a  wonder,  the  veteran 
miner  restrained  himself,  although  there  was  a 
hard,  glowing  light  in  his  eyes. 

"  We  won't  stand  for  it,"  he  said,  restraining 
Dick  with  his  elbow.  "  When  you're  ready  to 
talk  on  a  square  basis,  come  back,  and  we'll  use 
the  ink  Until  then  we  won't.  We  might  as  well 
shut  down,  first  as  last,  as  to  lose  money  when 
we're  just  breakin'  even  as  it  is.  Think  it  over  a 
while,  and  see  if  we  ain't  right." 

"  Well,  you'll  hear  from  me,"  declared  the 
delegate,  as  he  put  his  hat  on  his  head  and  turned 
out  of  the  door  without  any  parting  courtesy. 
"  Keep  the  card.  My  name's  Thompson,  you 
know." 

For  a  full  minute  after  he  had  gone,  the  part- 
ners stared  at  each  other  with  troubled  faces. 

"  Oh,  he's  a  bluff!  That's  all  there  is  to  it," 
asserted  Mathews,  reaching  into  the  corner  for 
his  rubber  boots,  preparatory  to  going  under- 
ground. "  He  knows  it  ain't  right,  just  as  well 
as  I  do.  If  he  can  put  this  over,  all  right.  If  he 
can't  he'll  give  us  the  other  rating." 


178  THE  PLUNDERER 

He  left  Dick  making  up  a  time-roll,  and  turned 
down  the  hill;  and  they  did  not  discuss  it  again 
until  they  were  alone  that  night. 

It  was  seven  o'clock  the  next  evening  when 
the  partners  observed  an  unusual  stir  in  the 
camp.  They  came  into  the  mess-house  to  find 
that  the  men  had  eaten  in  unusually  short  order; 
and  from  the  bench  outside,  usually  filled  at  that 
hour  with  laughing  loungers,  there  was  not  a 
sound.  A  strange  stillness  had  invaded  the  col- 
ony of  the  Croix  d'Or,  almost  ominous.  Preoc- 
cupied, and  each  thinking  over  his  individual 
trials,  the  partners  ate  their  food  and  arose  from 
the  table.  Out  on  the  doorstep  they  paused  to 
look  down  the  canon,  now  shorn  of  ugliness  and 
rendered  beautiful  by  the  purple  twilight.  The 
faint  haze  of  smoke  from  the  banked  fires,  rising 
above  the  steel  chimney  of  the  boiler-house,  was 
the  only  stirring,  living  spectacle  visible;  save 
one. 

"What  does  that  mean?"  Bill  drawled,  as 
if  speaking  to  himself. 

Far  below,  just  turning  the  bend  of  the  road, 
Dick  saw  a  procession  of  men,  grouped,  or  walk- 
ing in  pairs.  They  disappeared  before  he 
answered. 

"  Looks  like  the  boys,"  he  said,  using  the  term 


TROUBLE  STALKS  ABROAD       179 

of  the  camps  for  all  men  employed.  "  I  wonder 
where  they  are  bound  for?  If  it  were  pay  night, 
I  could  understand.  It  would  mean  Goldpan,  the 
dance  halls,  a  fight  or  two,  and  sore  heads  to- 
morrow; but  to-night — I  don't  know." 

Bill  did  not  answer.  He  seemed  to  be  in  a 
silent,  contemplative  mood  when  they  sat  in  the 
rough  easy-chairs  on  the  porch  in  front  of  the 
office  and  looked  up  at  the  first  rays  of  light  on 
the  splendid,  rugged  peak  above.  Dick's  mind 
reverted  to  the  lumberman's  daughter,  as  does 
the  needle  veer  to  the  magnet;  and  for  a  long 
time  they  sat  there,  until  the  fires  of  their  cigars 
glowed  like  stars.  The  moon  came  up,  and  the 
cross  was  outlined,  dimly,  above  them,  and 
against  the  background  of  black,  cast  upon  the 
somber,  starlit  blue  of  the  night. 

From  far  below,  as  if  steel  had  been  struck 
upon  stone,  came  a  faint,  ringing  sound.  Living 
in  that  strange  world  of  acuteness  to  which  men 
of  the  high  hills  are  habituated,  they  listened, 
alert.  Accustomed,  as  are  all  those  dwellers  of 
the  lonesome  spots,  to  heeding  anything  out  of 
the  ordinary,  they  strained  their  ears  for  a  repe- 
tition. Clattering  up  the  roadway  came  the 
sound  of  a  hard-ridden  horse's  hoofs,  then  his 
labored  breathing,  and  a  soft  voice  steadying  him 


i8o  THE  PLUNDERER 

to  further  effort.  Into  the  shadows  was  injected 
something  moving,  some  unfamiliar,  living  shape. 
It  turned  up  the  hill  over  the  trail,  and  plunged 
wearily  toward  them.  They  jumped  to  their  feet 
and  stepped  down  off  the  porch,  advancing  to 
meet  the  belated  visitor.  The  horse,  with  lather- 
ing neck  and  distended  nostrils,  paused  before 
them.  The  moon  cleared  the  top  of  the  eastern 
ridges  with  a  slow  bound,  lowering  the  shadows 
until  the  sweat  on  the  horse's  neck  glistened  like 
a  network  of  diamond  dust  strewn  on  a  velvet 
cloak.  It  also  lighted  to  a  pallid  gleam  the  still 
face  of  the  night  rider.  It  was  Lily  Meredith. 

"  I've  come  again,"  she  said.  "  They're  try- 
ing to  make  trouble  for  you,  down  there  in  the 
camp.  Bells  Park  came  out  and  told  me  about 
it.  The  miners'  union  stirred  up  by  that  man 
from  Denver.  Bells  said  the  only  chance  you 
had  was  to  come  down  there  at  once.  They've 
split  on  your  account — on  account  of  the  Croix 
d'Or.  I've  ridden  two  miles  to  warn  you,  and  to 
get  you  there  before  the  meeting  breaks  up.  Bells 
will  try  and  hold  them  until  you  can  come  and 
demand  a  hearing.  If  you  don't  make  it  they 
will  scab  the  mine.  You  must  hurry.  It's  your 
only  chance.  I  know  them,  the  best  friends  in 
peace,  and  devils  when  turned  the  other  way." 


TROUBLE  STALKS  ABROAD       181 

She  stopped  abruptly  and  looked  off  at  the 
moon,  and  then  around  over  the  dark  and  silent 
camp.  Only  one  light  was  visible,  that  in  the 
cook's  end  of  the  mess-house,  where  that  fat 
worthy  lay  upon  his  back  and  read  a  yellow- 
backed,  sentimental  novel.  Faint  and  rumbling 
came  the  subdued  roar  of  the  mill  at  the  Rattler, 
beating  out  the  gold  for  Bully  Presby;  and 
through  some  vague  prescience  Dick  was  aware 
of  its  noise  for  the  first  time  in  weeks,  and  it 
conveyed  a  sense  of  menace.  Everything  was  at 
stake.  Everything  watched  him.  He  looked  up 
at  the  white  face  of  The  Lily  above  him,  and  in 
the  moonlight  saw  that  her  eyes  were  fixed,  glow- 
ing, not  on  him  or  the  scenes  of  the  night,  but  on 
the  aroused  giant  at  his  side. 


CHAPTER  XI 

BELLS'  VALIANT  FIGHT 

"  "V  "T  TE'LL  get  there  as  soon  as  we  can," 

y  V        Dick   said.      "It   may   not   do   any 

good;     but    we'll    demand    a    word 

and  give  them  an  argument.     I  haven't  time  to 

thank  you  now,  Mrs.  Meredith,  but  some  day 


"  You  owe  me  no  thanks,"  was  her  rejoinder. 
"  It  is  I  who  owe  you.  Turn  about,  you  know." 

The  big  man  said  nothing,  but  took  a  step 
nearer  to  her  horse,  and  looked  up  into  her  face 
with  his  penetrating  eyes.  He  reached  up  and 
closed  his  hand  over  both  of  hers,  and  held  them 
for  an  instant,  and  then  whirled  back  into  the 
cabin  to  get  his  hat.  The  horse  pivoted  and 
started  away. 

"If  I  see  Bells  before  you  do,"  a  voice  floated 
up  from  the  shadows  below,  where  the  moon  had 
not  yet  penetrated,  "  I'll  tell  him  you're  coming. 
So  long." 

182 


BELLS'  VALIANT  FIGHT         183 

As  the  partners  dog-trotted  down  the  trail, 
she  was  already  a  long  way  in  advance.  Now 
and  then,  as  they  panted  up  the  steep  path  leading 
away  behind  the  Rattler,  whose  lights  glowed 
dimly,  they  heard  faint  sounds  telling  them  that 
she  was  hastening  back  to  Goldpan.  The  wind- 
ing of  the  trail  took  them  away  from  the  im- 
mediate roar  of  the  stamp  mill  behind,  and  they 
were  still  in  the  gloom,  when  they  saw  the  horse 
and  rider  outlined  for  a  moment  high  above  them 
on  the  crest  of  the  divide  and  they  thought  she 
stopped  for  a  moment  and  looked  back.  Then 
the  silhouette  seemed  to  float  down  out  of  sight, 
and  was  gone. 

At  the  top,  wordless,  and  sweating  with  effort, 
they  filled  their  lungs,  hitched  their  belts  tighter, 
and  plunged  into  the  shadows  leading  toward 
the  straggling  rows  of  lights  far  below.  They 
ran  now,  doggedly,  hoping  to  arrive  in  the  camp 
before  the  meeting  came  to  an  end. 

"  All  we  want,"  Bill  said  jerkily,  as  his  feet 
pounded  on  the  last  decline,  "is  a  chance  to  argue 
it  out  with  the  men  themselves  before  this  Den- 
ver feller  gets  his  work  in.  I'm  entitled  to  talk 
to  'em.  I've  got  my  own  card,  and  am  as  good 
a  union  man  as  any  of  'em.  The  boys'll  be  rea- 
sonable if  they  stop  to  think." 


1 84  THE  PLUNDERER 

They  hastened  up  the  roadway  of  the  street, 
which  was,  as  at  any  hour  of  the  night,  filled  with 
moving  men  and  clamorous  with  sound.  They 
knew  that  the  miners'  hall  was  at  its  farthest  end 
over  the  Golden  Age  Saloon,  and  so  lost  no 
time  in  directing  their  steps  toward  it.  A  group 
in  the  roadway  compelled  them  to  turn  out;  and 
they  were  hurrying  past,  when  a  high,  angry 
voice  arrested  them. 

"  And  that's  what  they  did  to  me — me,  old 
Bells  Park,  who  is  sixty-four!  " 

Dick  turned  into  the  crowd,  followed  by  his 
partner,  and  began  forcing  his  way  through. 
Bells  was  screaming  and  sobbing  now  in  anger, 
and  venting  a  tirade  of  oaths.  "  If  I'd  been 
younger  they  couldn't  have  done  it  so  easily.  If 
I'd  'a'  had  my  gun,  I'd  'a'  killed  some  of  'em,  I 
would!" 

As  the  partners  gained  the  little  opening 
around  him,  the  light  from  a  window  disclosed 
the  white-headed,  little  man.  Two  men  were  half- 
holding  him  up.  His  face  was  a  mass  of  blood, 
which'  one  of  his  supporters  was  endeavoring  to 
wipe  away  with  a  handkerchief,  and  from  all 
sides  came  indignant,  sympathetic  mutterings. 

"Who  did  that?"  roared  the  heavy,  infuri- 


BELLS'  VALIANT  FIGHT          185 

ated  voice  of  Bill  as  he  turned  to  those  around 
him. 

Bells,  whose  eyes  were  swollen  shut,  recog- 
nized the  voice,  and  lurched  forward. 

"  Some  fellers  backin'  up  that  Denver  thug," 
he  wailed.  "  I  was  tryin'  to  hold  'em  till  you 
come.  He  had  the  meetin'  packed  with  a  lot  of 
bums  I  never  saw  before,  and,  when  I  told  'em 
what  I  thought  of  'em  and  him,  he  ordered  me 
thrown  out.  I  tore  my  card  to  pieces  and 
chucked  'em  in  his  fat  face,  and  then  one  of  the 
fellers  that  came  with  him  hit  me.  They  threw 
me  down  the  stairs,  and  might  'a'  killed  me  if 
there  hadn't  been  one  or  two  of  my  friends  there. 
They  call  'emselves  union  miners!  The  dirty 
loafers!"  And  his  voice  screamed  away  again 
into  a  line  of  objurgations  and  anathemas  until 
Bill  quieted  him. 

"  Here,  Dick,"  he  said,  "  give  us  a  hand. 
We'll  take  him  over  to  Lily's  rooms  and  have 
her  get  Doc  Mills." 

His  voice  was  unusually  calm  and  contained. 
Dick  had  heard  him  use  that  tone  but  once  before, 
when  he  made  a  proposition  to  a  man  in  an  Ari- 
zona camp  that  the  road  was  wide,  the  day  fine, 
and  each  well  armed.  He  had  helped  bury  the 


1 86  THE  PLUNDERER 

other  man  after  that  meeting,  so  now  read  the 
danger  note. 

"  I'll  go  get  The  Lily  to  come  up  and  open  the 
door,"  one  of  Bells'  supporters  said;  "  and  won't 
you  go  for  Doc?"  He  addressed  the  man  on 
the  other  side  of  the  engineer. 

"  Sure !  "  replied  the  other. 

Within  five  minutes  they  were  in  Mrs.  Mere- 
dith's rooms  again;  and  it  seemed  to  Dick,  as  he 
looked  around  its  dainty  fittings,  that  it  was  for- 
ever to  be  a  place  of  tragedy;  for  the  memory 
of  that  terribly  burned  victim  of  the  fire  was 
still  there,  and  he  seemed  to  see  her  lying, 
scorched  and  unconscious,  on  the  white  counter- 
pane. 

"  His  nose  is  busted,  I  think,"  his  partner  said 
to  The  Lily,  whose  only  comment  was  an  abrupt 
exclamation:  "What  a  shame!  The  cowards!  " 

He  turned  to  the  woman  with  his  set  face, 
and,  still  speaking  in  that  calm,  deadly  voice, 
said:  "  Do  you  happen  to  have  your  gun  up 
here?" 

Her  eyes  opened  wider,  and  Dick  was  about 
to  interpose,  when  she  answered  understandingly : 
"  Yes;  but  I'll  not  give  it  to  you,  Bill  Mathews." 

"  I'm  sorry,"  he  said,  as  quietly  as  if  his  re- 
quest or  her  refusal  had  been  mere  desultory 


BELLS'  VALIANT  FIGHT          187 

conversation.  "  I  might  need  one  in  a  pinch;  but 
if  you  can't  spare  it,  I  reckon  the  boy  and  me 
can  do  what  we  have  to  do  without  one." 

He  turned  and  walked  from  the  room  and 
Dick  followed,  hoping  to  argue  him  from  that 
dangerous  mood. 

"  Say,  Bill,"  he  said,  "  isn't  it  about  bad 
enough  without  any  more  trouble?" 

"What?  You  don't  mean  to  say  you're  not 
with  me?"  exclaimed  the  miner,  suddenly  turn- 
ing on  him  and  stopping  abruptly  in  the  street. 
"Are  you  for  lettin'  'em  get  away  with  it?  Of 
course  you  ain't!  You  always  stick.  Come  on." 

They  saw  that  the  lights  in  the  miners'  hall 
were  out,  and  began  a  steady  tour  of  the  saloons 
in  the  vicinity.  One  of  their  own  men  was  in 
one  of  them — Smuts,  the  blacksmith,  cursing 
loudly  and  volubly  as  they  entered. 

"  Them  boys  has  always  treated  us  white 
clean  through,"  he  bawled,  banging  his  fist  on  the 
bar,  "  and  a  lot  of  you  pikers  that  don't  know 
nothin'  about  the  case  sit  around  like  a  lot  of 
yaps  and  let  this  Denver  bunch  pack  the  meetin' 
and  declare  a  strike.  Then  you  let  the  same 
Denver  bunch  jump  on  poor  old  Bells,  and 
hammer  him  to  a  pulp  after  they've  hustled  him 
out  of  the  door,  instead  of  follerin'  out  to  see  that 


1 88  THE  PLUNDERER 

he  don't  get  the  worst  of  it.  Bahl  I'm  dead 
sick  of  you." 

The  partners  had  paused  while  listening  to 
him,  and  he  now  saw  them. 

"  Come  out  here,  Smuts,"  Dick  said,  turning 
toward  the  door,  and  the  smith  followed  them. 

"  So  they've  ordered  a  strike  on  us,  have 
they?  "  Dick  asked. 

"Yes,"  was  the  blacksmith's  heated  response; 
"  but  it  don't  go  for  me!  I  stick." 

"  Then  if  you're  with  us,  where  is  that  Denver 
bunch?"  Bill  asked;  and  Dick  knew  that  any 
effort  to  deter  his  partner  from  his  purpose 
would  prove  useless. 

"  They  all  went  down  to  the  High  Light," 
the  smith  answered.  "Have  you  seen  Bells?" 

"  Yes,  and  taken  care  of  him.  Now  I'm  goin' 
to  take  care  of  the  man  that  done  it." 

The  blacksmith  banged  a  heavy  hand  on  the 
superintendent's  shoulder. 

"  Bully  for  you !  I'm  with  you.  We'll  go 
together !  "  he  exclaimed,  and  at  once  led  the  way 
toward  the  flaming  lights  of  the  High  Light 
but  a  few  doors  below. 

Dick  nerved  himself  for  the  inevitable,  and 
grimly  walked  with  them  as  they  entered  the 
doors.  As  they  stood  there,  with  the  big  mineri 


BELLS'  VALIANT  FIGHT          189 

in  front,  a  sudden  hush  invaded  the  babel  of 
noise,  and  men  began  to  look  in  their  direction. 
The  grim,  determined  man  in  the  lead,  glaring 
here  and  there  with  cold,  terrible  eyes,  was  too 
noticeable  a  figure  to  escape  observation.  The 
set  face  of  his  partner,  scarcely  less  determined, 
and  the  smith,  with  brawny,  clenched  hands,  and 
bushy,  black  brows  drawn  into  a  fierce  scowl, 
completed  the  picture  of  a  desperate  trio  come 
to  avenge. 

"  You're  the  man  I'm  after,"  suddenly  de- 
clared Bill,  pointing  a  finger  at  Thompson,  of 
Denver,  who  had  been  the  center  of  an  admiring 
group.  "  You're  the  one  that's  responsible  for 
old  Bells.  Let's  see  if  you  or  any  of  your  bunch 
are  as  brave  with  a  younger  man.  Come  out- 
side, won't  you?  " 

When  first  he  began  to  speak,  in  that  silky, 
soft  rumble,  Thompson,  who  was  nearly  as 
large  as  Mathews,  assumed  an  air  of  amused  dis- 
dain; but  before  the  speech  was  ended  his  face 
went  a  little  white. 

"  Oh,  go  on  away,  you  drunken  loafers !"  he 
said,  half-turning,  as  if  to  resume  his  conver- 
sation. 

Instantly  Bill  sprang  at  him;  and  it  seemed 
that  he  launched  his  sinewy  bulk  with  a  tiger's 


i9o  THE  PLUNDERER 

directness  and  deadliness  straight  through  the 
ten  feet  intervening.  He  drove  his  fist  into  the 
face  of  the  Denver  man,  and  the  latter  swept 
back  against  those  behind  him.  Again  he  lifted 
the  merciless  fist,  and  now  began  striking  with 
both  with  incredible  rapidity.  The  battered 
Thompson  was  driven  back,  to  fall  against  a  faro 
layout.  The  miner  bent  him  backward  over  the 
table  until  he  was  resting  on  the  wildly  scattered 
gold  and  silver  coins,  and  struck  again,  and  this 
time  the  blood  spurted  in  a  stream,  to  run  across 
the  green  cloth,  the  staring  card  symbols,  and  the 
case  rack. 

"  Don't  kill  him,  Bill,  don't  kill  him!  "  Dick's 
shout  arose  above  the  shouts  of  men  and  the 
screams  of  dance-hall  women.  He  had  barely 
time  to  observe,  in  a  flash,  that  Bill  had  picked 
the  limp  form  of  Thompson  up,  and  heavy  as  it 
was,  lifted  it  high  above  his  head  and  thrown 
it  violently  into  a  vacant  corner  back  of  the  table 
in  a  crumpled  heap,  when  he  was  almost  felled 
to  the  floor  by  a  blow  from  behind,  and  turned  to 
fight  his  own  battle  with  one  of  the  Denver  bullies. 

His  old  gymnasium  training  stood  him  in  good 
stead;  for,  half-dazed  by  the  blow,  he  could  only 
reel  back  and  block  the  heavy  fists  that  were 
smashing  toward  him,  when  there  came  a  sudden, 


BELLS'  VALIANT  FIGHT          191 

pause,  and  he  saw  that  the  smith  had  forced  his 
way  forward  and  lunged,  with  his  heavy,  slow 
arm,  a  deadly  punch  that  landed  under  his  assail- 
ant's ear,  and  sent  him  limp  and  dazed  to  the 
floor.  The  smith  jumped  forward  and  lifted 
his  heavy  boot  to  kick  the  weaving  face;  but 
Dick  caught  him  by  the  arm,  and  whirled  him 
back  in  time  to  prevent  needless  brutality. 

"  There's  another  of  'em  that  hit  Bells,"  the 
smith  yelled,  pointing  to  a  man  who  began  des- 
perately edging  toward  the  door. 

All  the  rage  of  the  primitive  was  aroused  in 
Dick  by  this  time,  the  battle  lust  that  dwells, 
placidly  through  life,  perhaps,  in  every  man,  but 
which  breaks  loose  in  a  torrent  when  once 
unleashed.  He  leaped  after  the  retreating  man, 
seized  him  by  the  collar,  and  gave  a  wrench  that 
tore  coat,  collar,  and  tie  from  the  man's  throat. 
He  drove  a  blow  into  the  frightened  face,  and 
yelled:  "That  for  old  Bells  Park!  And  that!" 

The  room  had  become  a  pandemonium.  Men 
seemed  striking  everywhere.  Fists  were  flying, 
the  bartenders  and  gamblers  shouting  for  order; 
and  Dick  looked  back  to  where  Smuts  and  Bill 
were  clearing  a  wide  circle  as  they  went  after 
individual  members  of  Thompson's  supporters 
who  were  edging  in.  Suddenly  he  saw  a  nian 


192  THE  PLUNDERER 

leap  on  the  bar,  and  recognized  in  him  the  man 
who  had  been  watchman  at  the  Croix  d'Or. 
Even  in  that  tempestuous  instant  Dick  wondered 
at  his  temerity  in  entering  the  place. 

Something  glistened  in  the  light,  and  he  saw 
that  the  watchman  held  a  drawn  revolver,  and 
was  leveling  it  at  Bill.  The  motion  of  the 
fight  was  all  that  prevented  the  shot,  as  Mathews 
leaped  to  and  fro.  A  dozen  men  were  between 
Dick  and  the  watchman;  but  almost  under  his 
hand,  at  the  edge  of  the  bar,  stood  a  whisky 
bottle.  He  dove  for  it,  brought  it  up,  and 
threw.  The  watchman,  struck  fairly  on  the 
side  of  the  head,  dropped  off  backward,  and  fell 
to  the  floor  behind  the  bar,  and  his  pistol 
exploded  harmlessly  upward. 

Instantly  there  came  a  change.  From  terrific 
uproar  the  room  became  as  still  as  a  solitude. 
Brutal  and  deadly  as  had  been  that  fierce  minute 
or  two  of  battle  in  which  all  men  fought,  or  strove 
to  protect  themselves  from  the  maddened  ones 
nearest,  the  sound  of  the  shot  brought  them  to 
their  senses.  A  fight  was  one  thing,  a  shooting 
another.  Gunmen  as  many  of  them  were,  they 
dreaded  the  results  if  firearms  were  resorted  to 
in  that  dense  mass  of  excited  men,  and  each  one 
stood  still,  panting,  listening,  calmed. 


BELLS'  VALIANT  FIGHT          193 

"  I  think  Bells  Park  has  played  even,"  came 
a  calm,  steady  voice  at  the  door. 

They  turned  in  surprise.  Standing  in  the 
doorway,  motionless,  scornful,  and  immaculate, 
with  her  white  hat  still  on  her  head,  as  if  she  had 
just  entered  from  the  street,  stood  The  Lily. 

"  Poor  old  Bells!  Poor  old  man!  "  she  said, 
in  that  panting  silence,  and  then  for  what  seemed 
a  long  time  looked  at  the  floor.  "  Bells  Park," 
she  said  at  last,  lifting  her  eyes,  "  is  dead!  " 

Suddenly,  and  before  any  one  could  speak,  she 
clenched  her  hands  at  her  sides,  her  eyes  blazed, 
her  face  twisted,  and  went  white. 

"  Oh,"  she  said  bitterly,  in  a  voice  low-pitched 
and  tortured  with  passion,  "  I  hate  youl  I  hate 
you !  You  brutes  of  Goldpan.  You  gambling 
dogs!  You  purchasers  of  women.  From  this 
time,  forever,  I  am  done  with  you  1" 

She  lifted  her  arms,  opened  her  hands,  and 
made  one  wide,  sweeping,  inclusive  gesture,  and 
turned  and  walked  out  into  the  night. 

"Dead!     Dead!     Bells  is  dead!  " 

Dick  heard  an  unutterably  sorrowful  voice 
exclaim;  and  Bill,  half-denuded,  his  blue  shirt  in 
shreds,  his  face  puffed  from  blows,  and  his  cut 
knuckles  dripping  a  slow,  trickling  red,  plunged 
toward  him,  followed  by  the  smith.  No  one 


i94  THE  PLUNDERER 

blocked  their  way  as  they  went,  the  three  to- 
gether, as  they  had  come.  Behind  them,  the  room 
broke  into  hushed,  awed  exclamations,  and  began 
to  writhe  and  twist,  as  men  lifted  and  revived 
the  fallen,  and  took  stock  of  their  injuries. 

Two  men  came  running  down  the  street  with 
weapons  in  hand;  and  the  moonlight,  which  had 
lifted  until  it  shone  white  and  clear  into  the 
squalors  of  the  camp,  picked  out  dim  blazes  from 
the  stars  on  their  breasts.  They  were  the  town 
marshal  and  a  deputy  sheriff,  summoned  from 
some  distant  saloon  by  the  turmoil,  and  hasten- 
ing forward  to  arrest  the  rioters,  not  suspecting 
that  men  were  wanted  for  a  graver  offense. 
Standing  alone  in  the  monlight,  in  the  middle  of 
the  road,  with  her  hands  clenched  before  her,  the 
three  men  discerned  another  figure,  and,  when 
they  gained  it,  saw  that  in  the  eyes  of  The  Lily 
swam  unshed  tears. 

Dick  and  the  smith  hastened  onward  toward 
her  rooms;  but  Bill  abruptly  turned,  after  they 
had  passed  her,  and  spoke.  They  did  not  hear 
what  he  said.  They  scarcely  noted  his  pause, 
for  in  but  two  or  three  steps  he  was  with  them 
again,  grimly  hurrying  to  where  lay  the  man  thev, 
come  to  love. 


CHAPTER  XII 

A  DISASTROUS  BLOW 

IN  after  years  it  all  came  back  to  Dick  as  a. 
horrible  nightmare  of  unreality,  that  tragic 
night's  events  and  those  which  followed. 
The  grim  setting  of  the  coroner's  jury,  where 
men  with  bestial,  bruised,  and  discolored  faces 
sat  awkwardly  or  anxiously,  with  their  hats  on 
their  knees,  in  a  hard  stillness;  the  grave  ques- 
tions of  the  coroner,  coupled  with  the  harsh, 
decisive  interrogations  of  the  prosecuting  attor- 
ney, who  had  been  hastily  summoned  from  the 
county  seat  across  the  hills;  and  there  in  the 
other  room,  quiet,  and  at  rest,  the  faithful  old 
man  who  had  given  his  life  in  defense  of  his 
friends. 

Dick  gave  his  testimony  in  a  dulled  voice  that 
sounded  strange  and  unfamiliar,  telling  all  that 
the  engineer  had  said  of  the  assault.  He  had  one 
rage  of  vindictiveness,  when  the  three  men  from 
Denver  were  identified  as  the  ones  who  had 

195 


196  THE  PLUNDERER 

attacked  the  engineer,  and  regretted  that  they 
were  alive  to  meet  the  charge  against  them.  He 
but  vaguely  understood  the  technical  phraseology 
of  Doctor  Mills  when  he  stated  that  Bells  Park 
died  from  the  shock  of  the  blows  and  kicks  rained 
on  him  in  that  last  valorous  chapter  of  his  life. 
He  heard  the  decic  on  placing  the  responsibility 
on  the  men  from  Eenver,  saw  the  sheriff  and  his 
deputies  step  forward  and  lay  firm  hands  on 
their  arms  and  lead  them  away;  and  then  was 
aroused  by  the  heavy  entrance  of  the  camp  under- 
taker to  make  ready,  for  the  quiet  sleep,  the  body 
of  Bells  Park,  the  engineer. 

"He  belongs  to  us,"  said  Dick  numbly;  "to 
Bill  and  me.  He  died  for  the  Croix  d'Or.  The 
Croix  d'Or  will  keep  him  forever,  as  it  would  if 
he  had  lived  and  we  had  made  good." 

He  saw,  as  they  trudged  past  the  High  Light, 
that  its  door  was  shut,  and  remembered,  after- 
ward, a  tiny  white  notice  pasted  on  the  glass. 
The  trail  across  the  divide  was  of  interminable 
length,  as  was  that  other  climb  up  to  the  foot  of 
the  yellow  cross  on  the  peak,  and  to  the  grave  he 
had  caused  to  be  dug  beside  that  other  one  which 
Bells  had  guarded  with  jealous  care,  planted 
with  flowers,  weeded,  and  where  a  faded,  rough 
little  cross  bore  the  rudely  carved  inscription: 


A  DISASTROUS  BLOW  197 

MEHITABLE  PARK. 

THE  BEST  WOMAN  THAT  EVER  LIVED. 

Those  who  had  come  to  pay  the  last  honor  to 
the  little  engineer  filed  back  down  the  hill,  and  the 
Croix  d'Or  was  left  alone,  silent  and  idle.  The 
smoke  of  the  banked  fires  still  wove  little  heat 
spirals  above  the  stacks  as  if  waiting  for  the  man 
of  the  engines.  The  men  were  shamefacedly 
standing  around  the  works  and  arguing,  and  one 
or  two  had  rolled  their  blankets  and  dumped 
them  on  the  bench  beside  the  mess-house. 

Two  or  three  of  them  halted  Dick  and  his 
partner  as  they  started  up  the  little  path  to  the 
office  building  where  they  made  their  home. 

"Well?"  Bill  asked,  facing  them  with  his 
penetrating  eyes. 

"  We  don't  want  you  boys  to  think  we  had 
any  hand  in  any  of  this,"  the  old  drill  runner 
said,  taking  the  lead.  "  They  jobbed  us.  There 
were  but  three  or  four  of  the  Cross  men  there 
when  they  voted  a  strike,  and  before  that  there 
wasn't  a  man  that  hadn't  taken  the  floor  and 
fought  for  your  scale.  The  meeting  dragged 
for  some  reason,  because  old  Bells  kept  bringing 
up  arguments — long-winded  ones — as  if  holding; 
it  off." 


i98  THE  PLUNDERER 

He  appeared  to  choke  up  a  little,  and  gave  a 
swift  glance  over  his  shoulder  at  the  yellow  land- 
mark above. 

"  If  any  of  us  had  been  there,  they'd  never 
liave  gotten  him.  We  all  liked  Bells.  But  they 
tell  me  that  meeting  was  packed  by  that  " — and 
he  suddenly  flamed  wrathful  and  used  a  foul 
epithet — "  from  Denver,  and  the  three  thugs  he 
brought  with  him.  Mr.  Townsend,  there  ain't 
a  man  on  the  Cross  that  don't  belong  to  the  union. 
You  know  what  that  means.  You  know  how 
hard  it  is  for  us  to  scab  ourselves.  But  there 
ain't  a  man  on  the  Cross  that  hasn't  decided  to 
stick  by  the  mine  if  you  want  us.  We're 
making  a  protest  to  the  head  officers,  and  if  that 
don't  go — well,  we  stick!  " 

Dick  impulsively  put  out  his  hand.  He  could 
not  speak.  He  was  choking. 

"  Want  you,  boys?  Want  you?  "  Bill  rumbled. 
"  We  want  all  of  you.  Every  man  jack  on  the 
works.  You  know  how  she's  goin'  as  well  as  we 
.do;  but  I'm  here  to  tell  you  that  if  the  Cross 
makes  good,  there'll  be  one  set  of  men  that'll 
always  have  the  inside  edge." 

The  men  with  the  blankets  grinned,  and 
furtively  flung  them  through  an  open  bunk-house 
window.  They  all  turned  away,  tongue-tied  in 


A  DISASTROUS  BLOW  199 

emotion,  as  are  nearly  all  men  of  the  high  hills, 
and  tried  to  appear  unconcerned;  while  Dick, 
still  choking,  led  the  way  up  the  trail.  The 
unwritten  law  of  the  mines  had  decreed  there 
should  be  no  work  that  day;  and  he  saw  the  men 
of  the  Cross  pass  down  the  road,  arguing  with 
stolid  emphasis  against  the  injustice  of  the 
ordered  strike.  He  knew  they  would  return  to 
the  camp  and  continue  that  argument,  with  more 
or  less  heat,  and  wondered  what  the  outcome 
would  be. 

He  tried  to  forget  his  sorrow  and  bodily  pains 
by  checking  over  his  old  assay  slips,  while  Bill 
wandered,  like  a  bruised  and  melancholy  sur- 
vivor of  a  battle,  from  the  mill  to  the  hoist,  from 
cabin  to  cabin,  and  mess-house  to  bunk-house, 
stopping  now  and  then  to  stare  upward  at  the 
peak,  as  if  still  thinking  of  that  fresh  and  fra- 
grant earth  piled  in  a  mound  above  Bells  Park. 

Once,  in  the  night,  they  were  awakened  by  the 
sounds  of  the  men  returning,  as  they  discussed 
their  situation  and  interjected  copious  curses  for 
the  instruments  of  the  tragedy.  Once  again, 
later,  Dick  was  awakened  by  a  series  of  blasts, 
and  turned  restlessly  in  his  bed,  struck  a  match, 
and  looked  at  his  watch,  wondering  if  it  had 
all  been  a  dream,  and  the  morning  shots  of  the 


200  THE  PLUNDERER 

Rattler  had  aroused  him.  It  was  but  three 
o'clock,  and  he  returned  to  his  troubled  sleep 
thinking  that  he  must  have  been  mistaken. 
Barely  half-awake,  he  heard  Bill  climb  out  of  his 
bed  and  don  his  clothing,  the  whistle  pulled  by 
the  new  hands,  and  the  clang  of  hammer  on  steel 
in  the  blacksmith's  shop.  Then  with  a  start,  he 
was  aroused  from  the  dreamless  slumber  of  the 
utterly  exhausted  by  a  heavy  hand  laid  on  his 
shoulder  and  a  heavy  voice:  "  Wake  up,  Dick  I 
Wake  up,  boy!  They've  got  us." 

He  sat  up,  rubbing  his  eyes  and  fumbling  with 
the  cordings  of  his  pajamas.  Bill  was  sitting 
on  the  edge  of  his  bed,  scowling  and  angry. 

"  Got  us?     Got  us?  "  Dick  repeated  vaguely. 

"  Yes.  Dynamited  the  Peltons,  and  I'm  afraid 
that  ain't  all.  We'll  have  to  go  up  the  pipe  line 
to  find  out." 

Dick  rolled  out  and  jumped  for  his  clothing. 
He  did  not  take  time  to  follow  his  partner's 
kindly  suggestion  that  he  had  better  go  to  the 
mess-house  and  get  the  "  cookie  "  to  give  him  a 
cup  of  hot  coffee.  He  was  too  much  upset  by 
the  disaster,  and  walked  rapidly  over  the  trail. 
Not  a  man  was  in  sight  around  the  works;  and  as 
he  passed  the  smith's  door,  he  saw  that  Smuts, 
too,  had  gone,  without  taking  time  to  don  his  cap 


A  DISASTROUS  BLOW  201 

or  doff  his  apron.  The  whole  force  appeared  to 
have  collected  around  the  power-house  at  the  foot 
of  the  hill,  which  was  around  a  bend  and  shut  off 
from  view  of  the  Cross.  A  jagged  rent,  scat- 
tered stone  and  mortar,  and  a  tangle  of  twisted 
steel  told  the  story;  but  that  was  not  the  most 
alarming  damage  he  had  to  fear,  for  the  heavy 
steel  pipe,  where  it  entered  the  plant,  was  twisted 
loose,  gaping  and  dry. 

He  scrambled  up  the  hill,  seizing  the  man- 
zanita  brush  here  and  there  to  drag  himself  up 
faster,  and  gained  the  brow  where  the  pipe  made 
its  last  abrupt  descent.  Far  ahead,  and  walking 
sturdily,  he  recognized  the  stalwart  figure  of  his 
partner,  and  knew  that  Bill  was  suffering  the 
same  anxiety.  He  ran  when  the  ascent  was  less 
steep,  and  shouted  to  the  grizzled  miner  ahead, 
who  turned  and  waited  for  him. 

"  I'm  afraid  of  it,"  Bill  called  as  he  ap- 
proached; and  Dick,  breathless,  made  no  reply, 
but  hurried  ahead  with  him  to  the  reservoir.  In 
all  the  journey,  which  seemed  unduly  long  and 
hot  that  morning,  they  said  nothing.  Once,  as 
they  passed  the  familiar  scene  of  his  tryst  with 
Miss  Presby,  now  ages  past,  Dick  bit  his  lips, 
and  suppressed  a  moan  like  that  of  a  hurt  ani- 
mal. Bitterly  he  thought  that  now  she  was  more 


202  THE  PLUNDERER 

unattainable,  and  his  dreams  more  idle  than 
ever  they  had  been.  And  the  first  sight  of  the 
reservoir  confirmed  it. 

To  a  large  extent,  the  reservoir  of  the  Cross 
was  artificial.  It  had  been  constructed  by  throw- 
ing a  deep  stone  and  concrete  dam  across  a  nar- 
row canon  through  which  there  percolated,  in 
summer,  a  small  stream.  Its  cubic  capacity  was 
such,  however,  that  when  this  reservoir  was 
filled  by  spring  freshets  it  contained  water 
enough  to  run  the  full  season  round  if  sparingly 
used;  and  it  was  on  this  alone  that  the  mill 
depended  for  its  power,  and  the  mine  for  its 
lights  and  train  service,  from  hoist  to  breakers. 

Where  had  stood  the  dam,  gray  with  age  and 
moss-covered,  holding  in  check  its  tiny  lake,  was 
now  nothing  but  ruins.  The  shots  had  been 
placed  in  the  lower  point,  which  was  fifty  feet 
down  and  conical  as  it  struck  and  rested  on  the 
mother  rock.  Whoever  had  placed  the  charges 
knew  well  the  explosive  directions  of  his  powder, 
and  his  work  had  been  disastrously  effective. 

The  whole  lower  part  of  the  dam  was  out, 
and  through  it,  in  the  night,  had  rushed  the  del- 
uge of  water  so  vital  to  the  Croix  d'Or.  Small 
trees  that  had  grown  up  since  the  dam  had  been 
built  were  uprooted  in  the  bed  of  the  canon,  and 


A  DISASTROUS  BLOW  203 

great  bowlders  pulled  from  their  sockets  and 
sent  resistlessly  downward.  Where,  the  day  be- 
fore, had  been  grassy  beds  and  heavy  growths  of 
ferns,  was  now  but  a  naked  bed,  stripped  to  the 
rock,  down  which  flowed  a  small  stream  oozing 
from  what  had  been  the  reservoir. 

The  partners  stood,  as  if  paralyzed,  on  the 
edge  of  the  gulch,  and  looked  down.  The  catas- 
trophe, coming  on  top  of  all  that  had  gone  be- 
fore, was  a  death  blow,  stupefying,  stupendous, 
and  hopelessly  irremediable. 

"  Well,  you  were  right,"  Dick  said  despair- 
ingly. "  They've  got  us  at  last!  " 

Bill  nodded,  without  shifting  his  eyes  from 
the  ruin  below.  They  stood  for  another  minute 
before  scrambling  down  the  canon's  steep  side 
to  inspect  more  closely  the  way  the  vandalism 
had  been  effected.  Slipping  down  the  muddy 
bank,  heedless  of  their  clothing  or  bruised  hands, 
they  clambered  over  the  broken  pieces  of  wall, 
and  looked  upward  through  the  great  hole  and 
into  the  daylight  beyond.  The  blow  was  too 
great  to  permit  of  mere  anger.  It  was  disaster 
supreme,  and  they  could  find  no  words  in  that 
time  of  despondency. 

"  I'll  give  a  hundred  dollars  toward  a  reward 
for  the  man  who  did  that,"  shouted  a  voice, 


204  THE  PLUNDERER 

hoarse  with  indignation,  above  them;  and  they 
looked  up  to  see  the  smith  on  the  bank,  shaking 
his  smudged  and  clenched  fist  in  the  air. 

"  And  I'll  take  a  hundred  more,"  growled  one 
of  the  drill  runners  in  the  augmenting  group  be- 
hind him. 

And  then,  as  if  the  blow  had  fallen  equally  on 
all,  the  men  of  the  Cross  stormed  and  raved,  and 
clambered  over  the  ruins  and  anathematized 
their  unknown  enemy;  all  but  one  known  as  Jack 
Rogers,  the  boss  millman,  who  silently,  as  if  his 
business  had  rendered  him  mute  as  well  as  deaf, 
stood  looking  up  and  down  the  gulch.  While 
the  others  continued  their  inspection  of  the  dam- 
age, he  drifted  farther  and  farther  away,  intent 
on  the  ground  about  him,  and  the  edge  of  the 
stream.  Suddenly  he  stooped  over  and  picked 
up  something  water-stained  and  white.  He  came 
back  toward  them. 

"  Whoever  did  the  one  job,"  he  said  tersely, 
"  did  both.  Probably  one  man.  Set  the  fuses  at 
the  power-house,  then  came  on  here  and  set  these. 
Then  he  must  have  got  away  by  going  to  the 
eastward." 

"  For  heaven's  sake,  how  do  you  figure  that 
out?  "  Dick  asked  eagerly,  while  the  others  gath- 
ered closer  around,  with  grim,  inquiring  faces, 


A  DISASTROUS  BLOW  205 

and  leaned  corded  necks  forward  to  catch  the 
millman's  words. 

"  I  found  a  piece  of  fuse  down  at  the  power 
plant,"  he  said.  "  See,  here  it  is.  It's  a  good 
long  one.  The  fellow  that  did  the  job  knew  just 
how  long  it  would  take  him  to  walk  here;  and 
he  knew  fuse,  and  he  knew  dynamite.  The  proof 
that  he  did  it  that  way  is  shown  by  this  short 
piece  of  fuse  I  found  down  there  at  the  edge  of 
the  wash.  He  cut  the  fuse  short  when  he  shot 
the  dam.  He  wanted  the  whole  thing,  both 
places,  to  go  up  at  once.  Now  it's  plain  as  a  Dig- 
ger Indian's  trail  that  he  didn't  intend  to  go  back 
the  way  he  came,  so  he  must  have  gone  eastward. 
And  if  he  went  that  way,  it  shows  he  didn't  in- 
tend to  hit  it  back  toward  Goldpan,  but  to  keep 
on  goin'  over  the  ridge  cut-off  till  he  hit  the  rail- 
road." 

Dick  was  astonished  at  the  persistent  reason- 
ing of  the  man  whom  hitherto  he  had  regarded 
as  a  singularly  taciturn  old  worker,  wise  in  mill- 
ing and  nothing  more. 

"  Now,  if  there's  any  of  you  boys  here  that 
know  trails,"  he  said,  "  come  along  with  me,  and 
we'll  section  the  hillside  up  there  and  pick  it  up. 
If  you  don't,  stay  here,  because  I  can  get  it  in 
time,  and  don't  want  no  one  tramplin'  over  the 


206  THE  PLUNDERER 

ground.  I  was — a  scout  for  five  years,  and — 
well,  I  worked  in  the  Geronimo  raid." 

Dick  and  Bill  looked  at  him  with  a  new  admi- 
ration, marveling  that  the  man  had  never  before 
betrayed  that  much  of  his  variegated  and  hard 
career. 

"You're  right!  I  believe  you're  right,"  the 
superintendent  exclaimed.  "  I  can  help  you.  So 
can  Dick.  We've  lived  where  it  came  in  handy 
sometimes." 

But  two  other  men  joined  them,  one  a  white- 
headed  old  miner  called  Chloride  and  the  other 
a  stoker  named  Sinclair  who  had  been  at  the 
Cross  for  but  a  few  weeks,  and  admitted  that  he 
had  been  a  packer  in  Arizona. 

Slowly  the  men  formed  into  a  long  line,  and 
began  working  toward  one  another,  examining 
the  ground  in  a  belt  twenty  feet  wide  and  cover- 
ing the  upper  eastward  edge  of  the  canon.  Each 
had  his  own  method  of  trailing.  The  white- 
headed  man  stooped  over  and  passed  slowly  from 
side  to  side.  Bill  walked  with  slow  deliberation, 
stopping  every  three  or  four  feet  and  scanning 
the  ground  around  him  with  his  brilliant,  keen 
eyes.  The  stoker  worked  like  a  pointer  dog, 
methodically,  and  examining  each  bush  clump 
for  broken  twigs. 


A  DISASTROUS  BLOW  207 

But  it  was  Rogers  the  millman,  whose  method 
was  more  like  Bill's,  who  gave  the  gathering 
call.  On  a  patch  of  earth,  close  by  the  side  of 
the  rampart  and  where  the  moisture  had  perco- 
lated sufficiently  to  soften  the  ground,  was  the 
plain  imprint  of  a  man's  foot,  shod  in  miner's 
brogans,  and  half-soled.  Nor  was  that  all.  The 
half-soling  had  evidently  been  home  work,  and 
the  supply  of  pegs  had  been  exhausted.  In  lieu 
of  them,  three  square-headed  hobnails  had  been 
driven  into  the  center  of  the  seam  holding  the 
patch  of  leather  to  the  under  part  of  the  instep, 
or  palm  of  the  foot.  They  were  off  like  a  pack 
of  bloodhounds,  with  the  old  millman  in  the  lead. 

Dick  started  to  follow,  and  then  paused.  He 
saw  that  Bill  was  standing  aside,  as  if  hesitating 
what  to  do. 

"  Bill,  old  partner,"  he  said  wearily,  "  if  any- 
thing can  be  found  they  can  find  it.  I  think  you 
and  I  had  better  go  back  and  try  to  think  some 
way  out  of  this — try  to  see  some  opening.  It 
looks  pretty  black." 

The  big  fellow  took  four  or  five  of  his  long, 
swinging  steps,  and  threw  an  arm  over  the 
younger  man's  shoulder. 

"  Boy,"  he  said,  "  they're  a-givin'  us  a  right 
fast  run  for  our  money;  but  we  ain't  whipped 


208  THE  PLUNDERER 

yet — not  by  a  long  way!  And  if  they  do,  well, 
it's  a  mighty  big  world,  with  mighty  big  moun- 
tains, and  we'll  strike  it  yet;  but  they  haven't 
cleaned  us  out  of  the  Cross,  and  can't  as  long  as 
you  and  me  are  both  kickin.'  They've  got  poor 
old  Bells.  They've  tried  to  hand  us  a  strike. 
They've  blown  our  reservoir  so's  we  can't  work 
the  mill  until  another  spring  passes  over;  and 
yet  we're  still  here,  and  the  Croix  d'Or  is  still 
there,  off  under  the  peak  that's  holdin'  it  down." 
He  waved  his  arm  above  in  a  broad  gesture, 
and  Dick  took  heart  as  they  turned  back  toward 
the  mine,  calculating  whether  they  could  find  a 
means  of  opening  it  underground  to  pay; 
whether  they  would  need  as  many  men  as  they 
had,  and  other  troublesome  details. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THE    DYNAMITER 

THE  men  of  the  Croix  d'Or  slowly  made 
their  way  upward  toward  the  higher 
crest  of  the  range,  spread  out  in  an  im- 
patient fan  whose  narrow  point  was  made  up  of 
the  three  experienced  men.  At  times  the  trail 
was  almost  lost  in  the  carpet  of  pine  needles  and 
heavy  growths  of  mountain  grass,  and  again  it 
would  show  plainly  over  long  stretches  where 
the  earth  was  exposed.  It  dipped  down  over  a 
crest  and  sought  a  hollow  in  which  ran  a  moun- 
tain stream,  spread  out  over  a  rocky  bed  and 
running  swiftly.  At  its  bank  they  paused.  It 
was  plain  that  their  man  had  taken  to  the  water 
to  retard  pursuit,  if  such  came.  The  millman 
threw  up  his  hand  and  called  the  others  around 
him. 

"  Before  we  go  any  farther,"  he  said,  "  let's 
find  out  how  many  shooting  irons  are  in  this 
crowd.  We  may  need  'em." 

209 


210  THE  PLUNDERER 

The  men  looked  blankly  at  one  another,  ex- 
pressing by  their  actions  the  fact  that  in  all 
the  party  there  was  not  one  who  possessed  a 
weapon. 

'  Then  it  seems  to  me  the  best  thing  to  do  is 
for  one  man  to  go  back  to  the  mine  and  get 
some,"  said  Rogers,  assuming  leadership. 
'  Who  ever  goes  will  find  my  gun  hanging  up  at 
the  head  of  my  bunk  in  a  holster.  Bring  that 
and  the  belt.  There's  cartridges  in  it." 

One  after  another  told  where  a  weapon  might 
be  found,  and  two  men  volunteered  to  return  for 
them.  It  was  agreed  that  the  others  were  to 
keep  on  and  that  after  leaving  the  stream  men 
were  to  be  posted  at  intervals  to  guide  the  mes- 
sengers as  they  came  up.  Rogers  proved  some- 
thing of  a  general  in  the  disposition  of  his  little 
army,  and  then,  with  Sinclair  on  one  bank  of  the 
stream  and  Chloride  on  the  other,  he  plunged 
into  the  water  and  began  an  up-stream  course. 

"  It  stands  to  reason,"  he  argued,  "  that  our 
man  didn't  go  down  stream  unless  it  was  for  a 
blind.  He  wouldn't  double  back  because  it  would 
bring  him  out  almost  where  he  started.  He  will 
keep  on  up  this  way  until  she  gets  too  small  to 
travel  in  and  then  will  hit  off  somewhere  else. 
You  other  fellers  keep  behind." 


THE  DYNAMITER  211 

They  began  a  slow,  painstaking  course  up  the 
stream  and  began  to  fear  they  had  been  mistaken 
in  their  surmise,  when  Sinclair  gave  a  shout.  He 
had  found  the  trail  again,  a  telltale  footprint 
with  the  patched  sole.  It  broke  upward  on  the 
other  side  of  the  canon,  and  now  men  were  posted 
within  shouting  distance  of  one  another  and  left 
behind  to  notify  the  two  men  bringing  weapons 
which  way  to  go.  Across  spots  where  the  trail  was 
difficult  or  entirely  lost,  and  still  higher  until  the 
timber  line  was  passed  and  bare  gray  rocks  were, 
everywhere,  the  man-hunters  made  their  way, 
and  another  watchman  was  left  on  the  highest 
point.  Down  the  other  side  and  into  the  timber 
line  again,  directed  only  by  a  broken  twig,  a 
freshly  turned  bowlder,  or  now  and  then  a  faint 
suggestion  of  a  footprint,  they  plunged  as  rap- 
idly as  they  could  and  then  through  tangled 
brush  until  suddenly  they  came  out  to  an  old  dis- 
used path.  Unerringly  they  picked  up  the  foot- 
prints again,  and  now  these  indicated  that  the 
quarry  had  felt  himself  secure  against  pursuit  and 
made  no  further  attempt  at  concealment. 

"  He  is  heading  out  to  the  east,  just  as  you 
said  he  would,"  the  smith  declared,  as  he  sat 
down  with  the  others  to  await  the  coming  of  the 
messengers.  They  were  certain  now  that  hence- 


212  THE  PLUNDERER 

forth  they  would  travel  rapidly.  They  talked  in 
low,  angry  voices  among  themselves,  while  Rog- 
ers, silent  and  grim,  sat  quietly  on  a  bowlder  and 
smoked.  A  shout  from  the  hilltop  attracted 
their  attention  and  they  looked  up  to  see  a  group 
beginning  to  descend.  The  men  with  guns  had 
returned  and  the  outposts  doubled  back  on  them- 
selves as  they  came,  adding  a  man  at  intervals, 
until  they  joined  those  waiting  for  them.  With- 
out delay  the  men  strung  out  in  single  file  along 
the  path,  with  the  old  millman  in  the  lead.  For 
the  most  part  they  went  as  quietly  as  would  In- 
dians oq  the  war-path,  loping  along  now  and  then 
down  declivities,  or  panting  upward  when  the  trail 
climbed  to  higher  altitudes.  There  was  no  doubt 
at  all  that  the  man  who  had  dynamited  the  dam 
was  certain  of  his  having  evaded  all  followers, 
and  indeed  he  would  have  done  so  with  men  less 
trained  and  astute. 

"  Does  any  one  know  this  country  here?  "  de- 
manded Rogers,  suddenly  halting  his  little  band. 

"  I  do,"  declared  one  of  the  drill  runners.  "  I 
worked  over  here  on  this  side  one  time  about 
two  years  ago.  Why?  " 

"Well,  where  does  this  trail  go?" 

"  To  an  old  logging  camp,  first,  then  from 
there  there  is  a  road  leading  over  to  Malapi." 


THE  DYNAMITER  213 

Rogers  lowered  his  hand  from  his  ear  and 
looked  thoughtful  for  a  moment. 

"  Many  men  at  the  camp?  " 

"  No,  I  think  it's  been  abandoned  for  two  or 
three  years,"  replied  the  drill  runner.  Rogers 
slapped  his  hand  on  his  leg,  and  seemed  confi- 
dent again., 

"  Then  that's  where  we'll  find  him.  In  that 
old,  abandoned  camp,"  he  exclaimed.  "  It's  a 
ten-to-one  bet  that  he  got  some  supplies  up  there 
some  time  within  the  last  few  days,  when  he 
made  up  his  mind  to  do  this  job,  and  that  he 
plans  to  lay  quiet  there  until  it  is  safe  for  him  to 
get  out  of  the  country." 

The  others  nodded  their  heads  sagely. 

"  If  you're  sure  of  that,"  the  drill  runner  said, 
"  the  best  thing  to  do  is  for  us  to  leave  the  trail 
over  here  a  ways  and  come  up  to  the  old  camp 
from  behind  it.  He  might  be  on  the  watch  for 
this  trail." 

"  Good  again  I  "  asserted  the  millman.  "  Here, 
you  take  the  lead  now  and  we'll  follow." 

For  another  hour  they  plugged  along  the  trail 
with  an  increasing  alertness,  and  wondering 
how  soon  the  drill  runner  would  turn  off.  At 
last  he  looked  back  and  gestured  to  them.  They 
understood.  He  slipped  off  the  trail  into  the 


2i4  THE  PLUNDERER 

brush  and  began  going  slowly.  Once  he  stopped 
to  whisper  to  them  to  be  cautious,  inasmuch  as 
within  a  few  hundred  yards  they  would  reach 
their  goal.  Now  they  began  to  exercise  the 
utmost  caution  of  movement,  spreading  out  ac- 
cording to  individual  judgment  to  avoid  wind- 
falls and  thickets.  Again  the  lead  man  stopped 
and  signaled  them.  He  beckoned  with  his  arm, 
and  they  closed  up  and  peered  where  he  indicated. 

Out  in  the  center  of  a  clearing  stood  a  big, 
rambling  structure  that  had  done  service  and 
been  abandoned.  A  slow  wisp  of  smoke,  gray 
and  thin,  floated  upward  from  the  rough  chim- 
ney, a  part  of  whose  top  rocks  had  been  dislodged 
by  winter  storms.  They  dropped  to  the  ground 
and  held  a  whispered  consultation.  They  argued 
heatedly  over  the  best  course  to  pursue.  The 
millman  favored  surrounding  the  cabin,  and 
then  permitting  him  with  two  others  to  advance 
boldly  to  the  door  and  endeavor  to  capture  their 
man. 

The  packer,  Sinclair,  suggested  another  course, 
which  was  nothing  less  valorous  than  a  straight 
rush  for  the  doors  and  windows;  but  Chloride 
fought  that  plan. 

"  It  ain't  that  I'm  afraid  to  take  my  chances," 
he  declared;  "  but  if  we  do  that,  some  of  ifs,  with 


THE  DYNAMITER  215 

such  a  crowd,  is  sure  to  get  shot.  We  don't  want 
to  lose  no  lives  on  a  skunk  of  a  dynamiter  like 
this  feller  must  be.  I'm  for  surroundin'  the 
house,  then  callin'  him  out.  If  he's  an  honest 
man,  he'll  come.  If  he  ain't,  he'll  fight.  Then 
we'll  get  him  in  the  long  run  if  we  have  to  fire 
the  cabin  to-night." 

"  And  maybe  burn  a  couple  of  million  dollars 
worth  of  timber  with  it  at  the  same  time," 
growled  the  drill  runner.  "  That's  a  fine  idea ! 
I'm  for  Jack's  plan.  First,  line  out  around  the 
cabin,  out  of  sight  of  course,  then  two  men  walk 
up  and  get  him.  I'm  one  of  'em." 

"  And  I  the  other,"  declared  Rogers.  "  Let's 
lose  no  time." 

Silently,  as  before,  the  party  spread  out  until 
it  had  completed  the  ring  around  the  cabin  and 
then,  when  all  was  in  readiness,  the  millman  and 
the  runner,  with  pistols  loosened,  stepped  out  into 
the  open  and  walked  around  to  the  door.  There 
was  a  moment's  tensity  as  they  made  that  march, 
neither  they  nor  the  watchers  knowing  when  a 
shot  might  sound  and  bring  one  of  them  to  the 
ground.  The  runner  rapped  on  the  door,  insist- 
ently. It  creaked  and  gave  back  a  sodden,  hollow 
sound,  but  at  first  there  was  no  response.  He 
rapped  again,  and  at  the  same  time  tried  to  open 


216  THE  PLUNDERER 

it;  but  it  was  barred.    A  voice  from  inside  called, 
"  Hello!     What  do  you  want  out  there?  " 

'  Want    to    see    you,"    the    runner    answered. 
"  Open  the  door,  can't  you?  " 

There  was  an  instant's  hesitation  and  then 
again  the  voice,  "Well,  what  do  you  want? 
Who  are  you?  " 

"  Two  men  that  ain't  familiar  with  these 
parts,"  was  the  wary  reply  of  the  runner.  "  Want 
to  talk  it  over  with  you." 

There  was  the  creaking  of  a  bar,  and  the  door 
was  opened  cautiously.  One  eye  applied  to  a 
crack  scanned  the  runner,  who  stood  there  alert. 
Rogers  was  out  of  sight.  Apparently  the  man  in 
the  cabin  did  not  recognize  the  runner,  for  now 
he  flung  the  door  wide  and  stepped  out.  As  he 
did  so  he  saw  the  millman,  whom  he  recognized, 
and  swiftly  pulled  a  gun  and  shot  at  him.  Even 
as  he  did  so  the  younger  man  leaped  upon  him, 
caught  his  wrist  and  wrenched  the  weapon  from 
his  hand.  He  did  the  unexpected  thing.  Instead 
of  fighting,  or  attempting  to  regain  the  cabin, 
he  deftly  threw  out  a  foot,  tripped  the  runner 
against  Rogers,  leaped  over  both  as  they  fell,  and 
dashed  headlong  for  the  forest.  Suddenly,  as 
he  gained  the  edge,  several  shots  cracked 
viciously,  but  none  of  them  seemed  to  have  taken 


THE  DYNAMITER  217 

effect.  He  snarled  loudly  with  excitement  and 
plunged  into  the  edge  of  the  timber.  Quite  as 
quickly  as  he  gained  it  a  man  arose  straight  in 
his  path,  leaped  forward,  caught  him  around 
the  waist,  and  brought  him  to  the  ground.  Men 
came  rushing  forward,  almost  falling  over  one 
another,  but  arrived  too  late  to  assist  in  the  cap- 
ture. Lying  under  and  pinned  to  the  earth  by 
the  huge  blacksmith,  struggling  for  release,  and 
cursing  between  shut  teeth,  was  the  man  who  had 
been  the  watchman  at  the  Croix  d'Or  when  its 
new  proprietor  arrived,  the  man  Wolff,  whose 
past  had  been  exposed  by  The  Lily  in  the  presence 
of  some  of  those  who  were  now  his  captors. 

"  Might  have  guessed  it,"  growled  the  smith. 
"  It's  like  him,  anyhow." 

Two  others  reached  over  and  assisted  him. 
They  caught  Wolff  by  his  arms  and  lifted  him  to 
his  feet,  where  they  held  him.  Another  man  ran 
his  hand  over  his  clothes  and  took  out  a  big  hunt- 
ing knife,  sheathed.  A  further  search  revealed 
nothing  save  a  small  sum  of  money  and  a  few 
dynamite  caps.  The  prisoner  attempted  to 
brazen  it  out. 

'  What  do  you  mean  by  this,  anyhow?  "  he 
demanded.     "  Bein'  held  up,  am  I?  " 

No  one  replied  to  him  directly,  but  it  was  Rog- 


2i 8  THE  PLUNDERER 

ers  who  said,  "  Lift  his  feet  up  there  until  we 
get  a  look  at  the  shoes.  Unceremoniously  they 
hoisted  him  clear  of  the  ground,  although  in  a 
sudden  panic  he  kicked  and  struggled.  There 
was  no  doubt  of  it.  The  shoes  were  identical 
with  those  worn  by  the  man  who  had  dynamited 
the  reservoir  dam.  The  hobnails  had  betrayed 
him.  For  the  first  time  he  seemed  to  lose  cour- 
age and  whined  a  protest. 

"  Where  were  you  last  night?  "  demanded  the 
smith,  frowning  in  his  face. 

"  Right  here  in  this  cabin.  Been  here  two  days 
now." 

They  walked  him  between  them  back  to  the 
door  and  Chloride  and  Sinclair  went  in.  They 
inspected  it  closely.  They  dropped  to  their  knees 
and  examined  the  deposit  of  dust.  They  walked 
over  to  the  fireplace  and  inspected  the  ash  sur- 
rounding the  little  blaze,  which  had  been  started 
less  than  an  hour  before,  as  far  as  they  could 
decide.  Below  was  a  heap  of  mouldy  ash  that 
had  been  beaten  down  by  winter  snows  and  sum- 
mer rains  falling  through  the  broken  chimney. 
The  others  watched  the  two  inquisitors  curiously 
through  the  open  door. 

"  If  he  has  been  here  two  days  he  has  moved 
around  the  room  scarcely  at  all,"  Sinclair  de- 


THE  DYNAMITER  219 

clared,  "  because  the  dust  isn't  disturbed  by  more 
than  one  or  two  trails.  And,  what's  more,  that 
fire  is  the  first  one  that  has  been  built  here  in 
many  a  long  month,  and  it  wasn't  started  very 
long  ago.  It's  too  thin.  He  just  got  here !  He's 
the  man!  " 

The  prisoner  was  ringed  round  by  accusing, 
scowling  eyes.  He  shoved  a  dry  tongue  out  and 
wet  his  lips  as  if  the  nervous  strain  were  begin- 
ning to  tell.  He  started  to  speak,  but  apparently 
decided  to  say  nothing  and  stood  looking  at  the 
ground. 

"  Well,"  demanded  Rogers,  "  what  have  you 
to  say  for  yourself?  You've  plainly  lied  about 
being  here  in  the  cabin.  What  did  you  do  that 
for?" 

"  I  didn't  say  that  I  was  in  the  cabin.  I  slept 
outside,"  Wolff  growled. 

"  Then  take  us  to  the  place  where  you 
camped,"  suggested  one  of  the  drill  runners.  A 
chorus  of  approving  shouts  seconded  his  request; 
but  Wolff  began  to  appear  more  confused  than 
ever  and  did  not  answer.  He  took  refuge  in  a 
fierce  burst  of  anger. 

"What  do  you  fellows  mean,  anyhow?"  he 
demanded.  "  I  ain't  done  nothin'.  What  right 


220  THE  PLUNDERER 

have  you  to  come  up  here  and  grab  a  man  that 
way?    Who  are  you  lookin'  for,  anyhow?" 

"  Wolff,"  said  the  old  millman,  steadily,  "  we 
are  looking  for  the  man  that  blew  up  the  Croix 
d'Or  power-house  and  dam  last  night.  And 
what's  more,  we  think  we've  got  him.  You're 
the  man,  all  right!  " 

His  attempts  to  pretend  ignorance  and  inno- 
cence were  pitiful.  This  impromptu  court  was 
trying  him  there  in  the  open  beside  the  cabin,  and 
he  knew  that  its  verdict  would  be  a  speedy  one. 
He  started  to  run  the  gamut  of  appeal,  denial, 
and  anger;  but  his  hearers  were  inflexible.  They 
silenced  him  at  last. 

'  We  need  just  one  thing  more,  boys,"  said 
Rogers,  "  and  that  is  to  be  sure  that  these  are 
the  same  boots  that  made  the  tracks  there  by  the 
dam.  All  we  have  to  do  to  prove  that  is  to  take 
this  fellow  back  with  us.  The  tracks  will  still  be 
there.  If  they  are  the  same  we  can  be  sure." 

"  That's     right,"     added     the     blacksmith. 
"  That'd  be  proof  enough.     Let's  move  out." 

They  knotted  their  huge  handkerchiefs  and 
bound  his  arms  at  the  elbows  and  then  his  hands 
at  the  wrists,  and  started  him  forward.  He 
fought  at  first,  but  on  being  prodded  sharply  with 
the  muzzle  of  a  gun  moved  sullenly  in  their  midst 


THE  DYNAMITER  221 

along  the  trail  he  had  so  lately  come  over.  They 
trudged  in  a  harsh  silence,  save  now  and  then 
when  he  tried  to  persuade  them  of  his  innocence, 
only  to  convince  them  further  that  he  lied.  Their 
return  was  made  much  faster  than  their  coming,4 
for  now  they  had  no  need  to  seek  a  trail,  nor  to 
walk  in  a  mountain  stream.  They  forged  ahead 
rapidly  under  the  direction  of  the  runner  who  had 
been  in  that  part  of  the  mountains  before,  and 
yet  it  was  almost  dusk  when  they  came  down  the 
hill  above  the  great  wreck.  They  led  him  to  the 
big  heap  of  broken  masonry  and  then  ordered 
him  to  sit  down.  He  had  to  be  thrown  from  his 
feet,  after  which  they  removed  his  shoes,  and 
while  two  of  them  stood  guard  over  him  the 
others  descended  to  the  edge  of  the  wall  and 
found  the  clear-cut  prints  which  had  been  first 
noted  that  morning  and  which,  trailed,  had  led 
to  his  capture.  They  struck  matches  to  be  cer- 
tain that  there  was  no  mistake  and  bent  over 
while  Rogers  carefully  pressed  one  of  the  shoes 
into  the  mud  beside  that  first  imprint.  They 
were  undoubtedly  the  same.  He  then  fitted  the 
shoe  into  that  track,  and  all  further  proof  was 
unnecessary.  Grimly  they  passed  back  to  where 
Wolff  was  being  guarded. 

"  Well,  boys,"  said  Rogers,  gravely,  "  this  is 


222  THE  PLUNDERER 

the  man  I  There  isn't  a  doubt  of  it.  Now  you 
all  know  who  he  is,  what  his  past  has  been,  what 
he  has  done  here,  and  I  want  to  get  your  ideas 
what  should  be  done  with  him." 

The  smith  stepped  forward  and  took  off  his 
hat.  It  was  as  if  he  knew  that  he  were  the  one 
to  impose  a  death  sentence. 

"  There  ain't  but  one  thing  for  the  likes  of 
him.  That's  hangin',"  he  declared,  steadily.  "  I 
vote  to  hang  him.  Here  and  now,  across  the  end 
of  the  dam  he  shot  out." 

He  stepped  back  into  the  closely  drawn  circle. 
Rogers  faced  man  after  man,  calling  the  name 
of  each.  There  was  no  dissenting  voice.  The 
verdict  was  unanimous.  So  certain  had  been  the 
outcome  that  one  of  their  number  had  started 
along  the  pipe  line  to  the  wreck  of  the  power- 
house for  a  rope  before  ever  they  compared  the 
imprints  of  the  telltale  shoes,  and  now,  almost  by 
the  time  they  had  cast  their  ballot,  this  man 
returned. 

"  Wolff,  you've  heard,"  said  the  old  millman, 
with  solemnity.  "  If  you've  got  any  messages 
you  want  sent,  we'll  send  them.  If  you  want 
time  to  pray,  this  is  your  chance.  There's  noth- 
ing you  can  say  is  going  to  change  it.  You  are 
as  good  as  dead.  Boys,  some  of  you  get  one 


THE  DYNAMITER  223 

of  those  beams  that's  tore  loose  there  at  the  side, 
fasten  the  rope  around  the  end,  and  shove  it  over 
the  edge  of  the  wall  above  the  canon  there  for 
a  few  feet.  He  shall  hang  above  the  dam  he 
dynamited." 

Wolff  knew  that  they  were  in  earnest.  There 
was  something  more  inexorable  in  their  actions 
than  in  a  court  of  law.  At  the  last  he  showed 
some  courage  of  a  brute  kind,  reviling  them  all, 
sputtering  forth  his  hatred,  and  interlarding  it 
with  a  confession  and  threats  of  what  he  wanted 
to  do.  They  silenced  him  by  leading  him  to  the 
wall  and  adjusting  the  noose.  Once  more  Rogers 
besought  him  to  pray  and  then,  when  he  again 
burst  into  oaths,  they  thrust  him  off.  The  fall 
was  as  effective  as  ever  hangman  devised. 

"  In  the  morning,  boys,"  said  the  smith,  "  a 
half-dozen  of  us  must  be  up  early  and  come  back 
here.  The  hound  is  at  least  entitled  to  a  half- 
way decent  burial.  I'll  call  some  of  you  to  come 
with  me." 

That  was  their  sole  comment.  They  had 
neither  regrets,  compunctions,  nor  rancor.  They 
had  finished  their  task  according  to  their  own 
ideas  of  justice,  without  hesitation. 

At  the  Croix  d'Or  the  partners,  worried  over 
their  problems,  and  somewhat  astonished  at  the 


224  THE  PLUNDERER 

non-appearance  of  the  force,  sat  on  the  bench  by 
the  mess-house,  smoking  and  silent. 

In  soft  cadence  they  heard,  as  from  the  oppo- 
site side  of  the  gulch,  the  tramping  of  feet.  Swing- 
ing along  in  the  dusk  the  men  came,  shadowy, 
unhalting,  and  homeward  bound,  like  so  many 
tired  hounds  returning  after  the  day's  hunt. 
Their  march  led  them  past  the  bench;  but  they 
did  not  look  up.  There  was  an  unusual  gravity 
in  their  silence,  a  pronounced  earnestness  in  their 
attitude. 

"  Well,"  called  Dick,  "  what  did  you  learn?  " 

It  was  the  smith  who  answered,  but  the  others 
never  halted,  continuing  that  slow  march  to  the 
bunk-house. 

"  We  got  him." 

"Where  is  he,  then?" 

"  Hanging  to  a  beam  across  the  dam  he  blew 
up,"  was  the  remorseless  response. 

He  started  as  if  to  proceed  after  the  others, 
then  paused  long  enough  to  add:  "  It  was  that 
feller  that  used  to  be  watchman  here ;  the  feller 
that  tried  to  shoot  Bill  that  night.  Found  him  in 
that  old,  deserted  cabin  near  the  Potlach.  Had 
the  shoe  on  him,  and  at  last  said  he  did  it,  and 
was  sorry  for  just  one  thing,  that  he  didn't  get 
all  of  us.  Said  he'd  'a'  blown  the  bunk-house  and 


THE  DYNAMITER  225 

the  office  up  in  a  week  more,  and  that  he'd  tried 
to  get  you  two  with  a  bowlder  and  had  killed  your 
burros — well,  when  we  swung  him  off,  he  was 
still  cursing  every  one  and  everything  connected 
with  the  Croix  d'Or." 

He  paused  for  an  instant,  then  came  closer,  and 
lowered  his  voice. 

"  And  that  ain't  all.  He  said  just  before  he 
went  off — just  like  this — mind  you:  '  I'd  'a'  got 
Bully  Presby,  too,  because  he  didn't  treat  me  fair, 
after  me  doin'  my  best  and  a-keepin'  my  mouth 
shut  about  what  I  knew  of  the  big  lead.'  Now,, 
what  in  hell  do  you  suppose  he  meant  by  that?  " 


CHAPTER  XIV 


"  THOUGH  LOVE  SAY  NAY  " 


one  thing  I  am  sure,"  said  Dick  on 
the  following  day,  when  they  began 
to  readjust  themselves  for  a  decision, 
"  and  that  is  that  if  we  can  find  work  for  them, 
there  isn't  a  man  on  the  works  that  I  don't  want 
to  keep.  They  are  too  true  and  loyal  to  lose." 
"  We  could  drive  into  the  blacksmith's  tunnel," 
Bill  said;  "and  I've  an  idea  we  might  strike 
something  when  we  pass  under  that  hard  cone 
just  above — well,  just  about  under  where  Bells 
is.  I  saw  it  yesterday  when  we  were  up  there 
for  the  first  time.  That  would  give  the  millman 
and  his  gang  something  to  do.  Some  of  'em  can 
take  out  the  rest  of  the  green  lead,  and  after 
that  drift  see  if  it  comes  in  again.  And  the 
others  that  can't  do  anything  underground,  can 
turn  to  and  build  up  the  dam,  with  a  few  masons 
to  help,  and,  when  a  new  wheel  comes,  the  mill- 

226 


"  THOUGH  LOVE  SAY  NAY  '       227 

man  will  know  how  to  set  that  all  right  again. 
So,  you  see,  we  don't  have  to  lose  any  of  them 
that  has  stood  by  us,  so  long  as  Sloan  is  ready, 
to  take  his  gamble  and  the  hundred  thousand 
lasts.  Before  that's  gone,  we'll  just  have  to  make 
good.  And  somehow  I  feel  we  will." 

As  if  to  add  to  the  mental  trials  of  the  half- 
owner  of  the  Croix  d'Or,  but  another  day 
elapsed  after  this  decision  and  adjustment  before 
he  received  a  letter  from  a  Seattle  broker  offering 
him  a  price  for  his  interest  in  the  mine.  Thus 
wrote  the  agent: 

"  My  client  has  the  timber  and  water  rights  of 
your  property  in  view  more  than  anything  under- 
ground, which,  on  the  advice  of  experts  who  have 
visited  the  property  in  previous  years,  he  seems 
to  regard  as  worthless.  He  informs  me  that  you 
are,  to  all  intents,  representing  not  only  your 
own  interest,  but  that  of  the  other  partner,  who 
places  implicit  confidence  in  you.  I  presume  that 
you  will  therefore  be  amenable  to  doing  all  you 
can  to  save  from  the  wreckage  of  the  dead  prop- 
erty all  that  is  possible  in  behalf  of  that  partner 
as  well  as  yourself,  and  am  authorized  to  make 
you  the  extremely  liberal  offer  of  sixty  thousand 
dollars  for  the  full  title  to  the  property." 

The  price  was  ridiculously  low,  and  Dick  knew 


228  THE  PLUNDERER 

it;  yet  if  the  mine  produced  nothing  more,  and 
was,  as  the  experts  were  supposed  to  have  re- 
ported, worthless,  the  amount  was  extremely  lib- 
eral. But  for  Bill  he  would  have  hesitated  to 
decline  such  an  offer.  That  worthy,  however, 
threw  his  head  back  and  roared  derisively. 

"Sixty  thousand?  Sixty  thousand!  What 
does  that  idiot  think  men  who  have  dropped  a 
quarter  of  a  million  in  a  property  would  quit  for? 
Does  he  think  that  sixty  thousand  is  any  saving 
from  a  wreck  like  this  has  been?  Tell  him  to 
chase  himself — that  the  tail  goes  with  the  hide, 
and  you'll  quit  clean  whipped,  or  not  at  all." 

But  Dick  was  loath  to  refuse  any  offer  without 
consulting  his  superior  in  New  York,  and  accord- 
ingly wandered  off  into  the  hills  to  think.  It  was 
late  in  the  afternoon,  and  he  mechanically 
tramped  over  the  trail  to  the  pipe  line,  where, 
when  hope  ran  higher,  he  had  dared  to  dream. 

The  whole  situation  had  become  a  nerve-rack- 
ing tragedy  of  mind  and  action.  His  desperate 
desire  for  success  after  his  self-acknowledgment 
that  he  loved  Miss  Presby,  and  then  the  blows 
that  had  been  rained  on  him  and  the  mine,  the 
failure  of  the  green  lead  to  hold  out  when  it  had 
at  least  promised  and  justified  operation — all 
cumulated  into  a  disheartening  climax  which  was 


"  THOUGH  LOVE  SAY  NAY  '       229 

testing  his  fortitude  as  it  had  never  been  tried 
before.  He  was  not  of  those  who  lade  either  per- 
sistence, determination,  or  moral  bravery;  'and 
it  was  this  last  characteristic,  coupled  with  a  cer- 
tain maturing  caution,  which  made  him  question 
the  honesty  of  proceeding  to  lay  out,  perhaps,  the 
entire  hundred  thousand  volunteered  by  Sloan, 
with  such  little  certainty  of  returns.  Had  the 
money  been  his  own,  he  would  have  taken  the 
chances  uncomplainingly;  but  his  judgment  told 
him  that,  had  he  been  sent  to  the  Croix  d'Or  as 
an  expert  to  pass  an  opinion  on  the  justification 
of  putting  a  hundred  thousand  into  the  ground, 
under  present  conditions,  he  would  have  advised 
against  it. 

He  went  as  far  as  the  reservoir.  Its  wreckage 
seemed  to  mock  his  efforts.  To  rebuild  it  alone 
meant  big  expense  in  a  country  where  every  bar- 
rel of  cement  had  to  be  brought  in  on  the  backs 
of  pack  mules,  and  where  stone  masons  received 
unduly  high  wages.  The  repairs  to  the  plant 
would  not  prove  so  heavy;  but  after  that?  None 
knew  better  than  he  the  trials  of  expensive  pros- 
pecting underground,  the  long  drives  to  end  in 
nothing,  the  drifts  that  tapped  no  ore,  the  ledges 
that  promised  to  come  in  strongly,  and  led  the 
worker  on  with  hope  deferred  until  his  purse  was 


230  THE  PLUNDERER 

f 

exhausted.  The  cruelty  of  nature  itself  flaunting 
the  golden  will-o'-the-wisp  in  the  blackness  of  the 
earth. 

He  stood  on  a  timber  thrown  carelessly  on  the 
brink  of  the  gorge,  and  suddenly  thought  how 
it  happened  to  be  there,  and  for  what  tragic  pur- 
pose it  had  served — a  gallows.  He  shuddered, 
thinking  of  the  mentally  distorted  wretch  who 
had  died  at  its  end,  cursing  as  the  men  of  the 
Cross  pushed  him  over  to  gasp  and  wrench  his 
life  away  fifty  feet  above  the  ruin  he  had  wrought. 
He  wondered  where  the  man  had  been  buried, 
and  hurried  back  along  the  pipe  line  to  try  and 
forget  that  episode. 

A  little  flutter  of  white  from  a  clump  of  brush 
attracted  his  eyes,  and  he  extracted  from  the 
brambles  a  dainty  handkerchief  still  fragrant  with 
the  personality  of  the  girl  he  loved.  He  lifted 
it  to  his  lips  tightly,  and,  with  a  heart  that  was 
almost  in  pain,  dropped  to  the  line,  and  sat  on  the 
pipe,  bent,  and  utterly  dejected.  He  sat  there  for 
some  minutes,  and  then  a  sound  caused  him  to 
straighten  himself  with  a  jerk.  The  black  horse 
was  thundering  down  the  hill  as  he  had  seen  it 
on  those  other  mornings  when,  looking  backward, 
the  "  world  was  young." 

"  I  saw  you,   Mr.   Townsend,"   Miss  Presby 


"  THOUGH  LOVE  SAY  NAY  '       231 

said  as  he  assisted  her  to  alight,  and  her  voice 
was  sympathetic  and  grave.  '  You  are  unhappy. 
I  don't  blame  you.  I  have  heard  all  about  it,  and 
— well,  I  have  had  to  fight  an  hourly  impulse  to 
come  to  you  ever  since  I  heard  the  news.  Oh,  my 
friend,  believe  me,  I  am  so  sorry!  So  sorry!  " 

He  could  not  reply,  lest  his  voice  betray  the 
emotions  aroused  by  her  kindly  sympathy.  All 
his  yearnings  were  fanned  to  flame  by  the  cadence 
of  her  voice  and  the  softness  of  her  eyes. 
Mechanically  he  resumed  his  place  on  the  pipe, 
and  she  seated  herself  by  his  side,  half-facing 
him.  Her  slender  foot,  booted,  braced  against 
the  ground,  and  almost  touching  his  heavy  miner's 
boot,  tapped  its  toe  on  the  sward  as  if  she  were 
impatient  to  find  words. 

"  It  has  been  a  little  tough,"  he  said;  "  but  it 
seems  less  hard  to  me  now  that  I  know  you 
care." 

He  had  blundered  in  his  first  words  to  the 
beginning  of  dangerous  heights,  and  his  pulses 
gave  a  wild  throb  when  he  glanced  up  at  her  and 
saw  a  light  in  her  face,  in  her  eyes,  in  her  whole 
attitude,  that  he  had  never  surprised  there  before. 
Words,  unuttered,  leaped  hotly  from  his  heart; 
a  mad  desire  to  tell  of  his  love,  of  the  visions 
he  had  seen  in  the  air,  on  the  blue  of  the  peaks, 


232  THE  PLUNDERER 

in  the  cool  shadows  of  the  forests,  in  the  black 
depths  hundreds  of  feet  under  the  ground.  Of 
how  the  Croix  d'Or  had  come  to  represent,  not 
financial  success,  but  a  battle  for  her,  and  his 
love. 

His  face  went  white,  and  he  bit  his  dry,  twist- 
ing lips,  and  clenched  his  hands  until  they  hurt. 

"  Not  now!  "  he  savagely  commanded  himself. 
"Not  now!" 

She  appeared  to  be  thinking  of  something  she 
had  to  say,  and  her  first  words  rendered  him 
thankful  that  he  had  held  his  tongue,  otherwise 
he  might  never  have  known  the  depths  of  the  girl 
seated  there  by  his  side. 

"  I  don't  want  you  to  think  me  forward,"  she 
said  quietly;  "  but  I  have  wanted  for  the  last  two 
days  to  ask  you  something.  It  makes  it  easier 
now  that  I  know  you  know,  that — that  I  care 
for  it.  What  are  your — your — how  are  your 
finances?  " 

She  had  stammered  it  out  at  last,  and,  now  that 
the  conversation  had  been  led  in  that  direction, 
he  could  speak.  He  sat  there  quietly,  as  if  by  a 
comrade,  and  told  her  all.  Told  her  of  his  boy- 
hood, his  father's  death,  and  that  he,  in  his  own 
right,  had  nothing  in  the  world  but  youth  and  a 
half-ownership  in  the  Croix  d'Or,  which  threat- 


"  THOUGH  LOVE  SAY  NAY  '       233 

ened  to  prove  worthless.  He  voiced  that  dread 
of  wasting  his  backer's  money  when  he  had  none 
of  his  own  to  put  with  it,  meeting  dollar  for  dol- 
lar as  it  was  thrown  into  the  crucibles  of  fate. 
He  stopped  at  last,  a  little  ashamed  of  having  so 
completely  unbosomed  himself,  for  he  was  by 
habit  and  nature  reticent. 

"  You  have  made  it  a  great  deal  easier  for 
me,"  she  said,  with  an  assumption  of  gayety.  "  I 
can  say  what  I've  been  thinking  of  for  two  days 
without  spludging  all  over  my  words." 

She  laughed  as  if  in  recollection  of  her  pre- 
vious embarrassment,  and  again  became  seriously 
grave,  and  went  on: 

"  They  say  my  father  is  a  hard  man.  At  times 
I  have  been  led  to  believe  it;  but  he  has  been  a 
good  father  to  me,  and  I  appreciate  it  and  his 
worries  more,  after  a  four  years'  absence  in  an 
Eastern  school,  and — well,  perhaps  because  I  am 
so  much  older  now,  and  better  able  to  judge 
leniently.  I  have  never  known  much  of  his  busi- 
ness from  his  lips.  It  is  one  subject  on  which 
he  is  not  exactly  loquacious,  as  probably  you 
know." 

Again  she  laughed  a  little,  grim  laugh.  Dick 
had  opened  his  lips  to  say  that  he  had  never  met 
her  father,  when  she  continued: 


234  THE  PLUNDERER 

"  On  the  day  I  met  you  first,  up  here  by  your 
pipe  line,  the  day  you  almost  ended  my  bright 
young  career  by  starting  a  half-ton  bowlder  down 
the  hill — don't  interrupt  with  repeated  apologies, 
please — I  had  my  birth  anniversary.  I  was 
twenty-one,  and — my  own  boss." 

"  Congratulations,  belated,  but  fervent." 

"  Thank  you ;  but  you  again  interrupt.  On 
that  day  when  I  went  home,  my  father,  in  his  cus- 
tomary gruff  way,  turned  back  just  as  he  was 
going  to  the  office  where  he  lives  at  least  eighteen 
hours  out  of  every  twenty-four,  and  threw  in  my 
lap  a  bank-book.  '  Joan,'  he  said,  '  you're  of  age 
now.  That's  for  you.  It's  all  yours,  to  do  just 
what  you  dam'  please  with.  I  have  nothing  to 
do  with  it.  If  you  make  a  fool  use  of  it,  it'll  be 
your  fault,  not  mine.  I'm  giving  it  to  you  so 
that  if  anything  happened  to  me,  or  the  Rattler, 
you'd  not  be  helplessly  busted.' ' 

He  jumped  to  his  feet  with  an  exclamation. 

"The  Rattler!  The  Rattler!  And— and  your 
name  is  Joan  and  not  Dorothy,  and  you  are  Bully 
Presby's  daughter?" 

He  was  bewildered  by  surprise. 

"  Why,  yes.  Certainly !  Didn't  you  know  that 
— all  this  time?  " 


"  THOUGH  LOVE  SAY  NAY  '       235 

"  No !  "  he  blurted.  "  There  is  a  Dorothy 
Presby,  and  a " 

"Dorothy  Presby!"  She  doubled  over  in  a 
gust  of  mirth.  "  The  daughter  of  the  lumber- 
man over  on  the  other  side.  Oh,  this  is  too  good 
to  keep !  I  must  tell  her  the  next  time  I  see  her. 
After  all  these  months,  you  still  thought " 

Again  her  laughter  overwhelmed  her;  but  it 
was  not  shared  by  Dick,  who  stood  above  her  on 
the  slope,  frowning  in  perplexity,  thinking  of  the 
strange  blunder  into  which  he  had  been  led  by 
the  words  of  poor  old  Bells,  his  acceptance  of  her 
identity,  his  ignorance  that  Bully  Presby  had  kith 
or  kin,  and  of  the  mine  owner's  sarcastic  refer- 
ences and  veiled  antagonism  throughout  all  those 
troubled  months  preceding. 

If  she  were  Bully  Presby's  daughter,  he  might 
never  gain  her  father's  consent,  though  the  Croix 
d'Or  were  in  the  list  of  producers.  He  thought 
of  that  harsh  encounter  on  the  trail,  and  his  asser- 
tion that  he  was  capable  of  attending  to  his  own 
business  and  asked  neither  friendship  nor  favor 
from  any  man  under  the  skies ;  of  Bully  Presby's 
gruff  reply,  and  of  their  passing  each  other  a  sec- 
ond time,  in  the  streets  of  Goldpan,  without 
recognition.  The  girl  in  front  of  him,  so  unlike 


236  THE  PLUNDERER 

her  father  save  for  the  firm  chin  and  capable 
brow,  did  not  appear  to  sense  his  perturbation. 

"  Well,"  she  said,  "  it  doesn't  matter.  I  am 

not  jeal I'm  not  any  different — just  the 

same.  Come  back  here  and  sit  down,  please, 
while  I  go  ahead  with  what  I  wish  to  say." 

The  interlude  appeared  to  have  rendered  her 
more  self-possessed. 

"  So,  on  that  day  I  met  you,  I  became  quite 
rich.  That  money  has  rested  in  a  bank,  doing 
neither  me  nor  any  one  else  any  benefit.  I  think 
I  have  drawn  one  check,  for  twenty-five  dollars, 
just  to  convince  myself  that  it  was  all  reality. 
And  I  am,  in  some  ways,  the  daughter  of  my 
father.  I  want  my  money  to  work.  I'm  quite  a 
greedy  young  person,  you  see.  I  want  to  lend  you 
as  much  of  that  money  as  you  need." 

"  Impossible '  " 

"  Not  at  all.  I  have  as  much  faith  in  you,  per- 
haps more,  than  this  Mister  Sloan,  of  whom  I'm 
a  trifle  jealous.  I  want  to  have  a  share  in  your 
success.  I  want  to  make  you  feel  that,  even  if  I'm 
not  the  daughter  of  a  lumberman,  I  am,  and  shall 
have  a  right  to  be,  interested  in — in — the  Croix 
d'Or." 

"Impossible!" 

"  It  isn't  any  such  thing.     I  mean  it!  " 


'  THOUGH  LOVE  SAY  NAY  '       237 

"  Then  it's  because  I  haven't  made  it  plain  to 
you — haven't  made  you  understand  that  even  now 
I  am  thinking,  to  preserve  my  honor,  of  telling 
Mr.  Sloan  that  it  is  too  much  of  a  venture.  If 
I  should  decline  to  venture  his  money,  why  should 
I ?" 

"  Refuse  mine?  That's  just  it.  His  money 
you  could  decline.  He  isn't  on  the  ground.  He 
doesn't  know  mines,  mining,  or  miners.  I  know 
them  all.  I  am  here.  I  know  the  history  of  the 
Cross  from  the  day  it  made  its  first  mill  run.  I 
went  five  hundred  feet  under  ground  in  a  Cali- 
fornia mine  when  I  was  a  month  old.  I've  run 
from  the  lowest  level  to  the  top  of  the  hoist,  and 
from  the  grizzlies  to  the  tables,  for  at  least  ten 
years  of  my  life.  I've  absorbed  it.  I've  lived 
in  it.  Had  I  the  strength,  there  isn't  a  place  in 
this,  or  any  mine,  that  I  couldn't  fill.  I'm  back- 
ing my  judgment.  The  Croix  d'Or  will  prove 
good  with  depth.  It  may  never  pay  until  you 
get  it.  The  blowing  of  your  dam,  the  loss  of 
your  green  lead,  and  all  of  those  troubles,  don't 
amount  to  that." 

She  snapped  a  thumb  and  forefinger  derisively, 
and  went  on  before  he  could  interject  a  word,  so 
intent  was  she  on  assisting  him  and  encouraging 


23 8  THE  PLUNDERER 

him,  and  proving  to  him  that  her  judgment, 
through  knowledge,  was  better  than  his. 

"  Borrow  my  money,  Dick,  and  sink." 

The  name  came  so  easily  to  her  lips!  It  was 
the  first  time  he  had  ever  heard  her  utter  it.  It 
swept  away  his  flying  restraint  even  as  the  flame 
of  powder  snaps  through  a  fuse  to  explosion; 
and  he  made  a  sudden,  swinging  step  toward  her, 
and  caught  her  in  his  arms  savagely,  greedily, 
tenderly  fierce.  All  his  love  was  bursting,  molten, 
to  speech;  but  she  lifted  both  hands  and  thrust 
herself  away  from  him. 

"Oh,  not  that!"  she  said.  "Not  that!  I 
wish  you  had  not.  It  robs  me  of  my  wish.  I 
wanted  you  to  take  my  money  as  a  comrade,  not 
as  my Oh,  Dick!  Dick!  Don't  say  any- 
thing to  me  now,  or  do  anything  now !  Please  let 
me  have  my  way.  You  will  win.  I  know  it! 
The  Cross  must  pay.  It  shall  pay!  And  when 
it  does,  then — then " 

She  stood,  trembling,  and  abashed  by  her  own 
words,  before  him.  Slowly  the  delicacy  of  her 
mind,  the  romanticism  of  her  dreams,  the  great, 
unselfish  love  within  her,  fluttering  yet  valiant, 
overwhelmed  him  with  a  sense  of  infinite  un- 
worthiness  and  weakness.  He  took  his  hat  from 
his  head,  leaned  over,  and  caught  one  of  the  pal- 


•'  THOUGH  LOVE  SAY  NAY  '       239 

pitant  hands  in  both  his  own,  and  raised  it  rever- 
ently to  his  lips.  It  was  as  if  he  were  paying 
homage  to  heaven  devoutly. 

"  I  understand,"  he  said  softly,  still  clinging 
to  the  fingers,  every  throb  of  which  struck  appeal- 
ingly  on  his  heartstrings.  "  Forgive  me,  and — 
yet — don't.  Joan,  little  Joan,  I  can't  take  your 
money.  It  would  make  me  a  weakling.  But  I 
can  make  the  Cross  win.  If  it  never  had  a  chance 
before,  it  will  have  now.  It  must !  God  wouldn't 
let  it  be  otherwise !  " 

"  Help  me  to  my  horse,"  she  said  faintly. 
"  We  mustn't  talk  any  more.  Let  us  keep  our 
hopes  as  they  are." 

He  lifted  her  lightly  to  the  saddle,  and  the 
big  black,  with  comprehending  eyes,  seemed  to 
stand  as  a  statue  after  she  was  in  her  seat.  The 
purple  shadows  of  the  mountain  twilight  were, 
with  a  soft  and  tender  haze,  tinting  the  splendid 
peak  above  them.  Everything  was  still  and 
hushed,  as  if  attuned  to  their  parting.  She  leaned 
low  over  her  saddle  to  where,  as  before  something 
sacred,  he  stood  with  parted  lips,  and  upturned 
face,  bareheaded,  in  adoration.  Quite  slowly  she 
bent  down  and  kissed  him  full  on  the  lips,  and 
whispered:  "  God  bless  you,  dear,  and  keep  you 
—forme!" 


24o  THE  PLUNDERER 

The  abrupt  crashing  of  a  horse's  hoofs  awoke 
the  echoes  and  the  world  again.  She  was  gone; 
and,  for  a  full  minute  after  the  gray  old  rocks 
and  the  shadows  had  encompassed  her,  there 
stood  in  the  purple  twilight  a  man  too  overcome 
with  happiness  to  move,  to  think,  to  comprehend, 
to  breathe] 


CHAPTER  XV 

"  MR.   SLOAN  SPEAKS  " 

"  "IT  "IT  TOW  I     Somethin'  seems  to  have  kind 

\/\f  of  livened  up  the  gloom  of  this 
dump,  seems  to  me,"  exclaimed  Bill 
on  the  following  morning,  when  returning  from 
his  regular  trip  underground,  he  stamped  into  the 
office,  threw  himself  into  a  chair,  and  hauled  off 
one  of  his  rubber  boots  preparatory  to  donning 
those  of  leather. 

Dick  had  been  bent  over  the  high  desk,  with 
plans  unrolled  before  him,  and  a  sheet  of  paper  on 
which  he  made  calculations,  whistling  as  he  did  so. 

"  First  time  I've  heard  you  whistle  since  we 
left  the  Coeur  d'Alenes,"  Bill  went  on,  grinning 
slyly,  as  if  secretly  pleased.  "  What're  you 
up  to?" 

"  Finding  out  if  by  sinking  we  couldn't  cut  that 
green  lead  about  two  hundred  feet  farther  down." 

"  Bully  boy!  I'm  with  you!  "  encouraged  the 
older  miner,  throwing  the  cumbersome  boots  into 
the  corner,  and  coming  over  behind  Dick,  where 

241 


242  THE  PLUNDERER 

he  could  inspect  the  plans  across  the  angle  of  the 
other's  broad  shoulder.  "  How  does  she  dope 
out?" 

"  We  cut  the  green  lead  on  the  six-hundred- 
foot,  at  a  hundred  and  ten  feet  from  the  shaft, 
didn't  we?  Well,  the  men  before  us  cut  on  the 
five-hundred  at  a  hundred  and  seventy  from  the 
shaft,  and  at  two-twenty  from  the  shaft  on  the 
four-hundred-foot  level,  where  they  stoped  out 
a  lot  of  it  before  concluding  it  wouldn't  pay  to 
work.  It  was  a  strong  but  almost  barren  ledge 
when  they  first  came  into  it  on  the  two-hundred- 
foot  level.  The  Bonanza  chute  made  gold  be- 
cause they  happened  to  hit  it  at  a  crossing  on  the 
four-hundred-foot  level.  At  the  six-hundred,  as 
we  know,  it  was  almost  like  a  chimney  of  ore 
that  is  playing  out  as  we  drift  west.  If  the  mill 
had  not  been  put  out  of  business,  we  were  going 
to  stope  it  out,  though,  and  prove  whether  it  was 
the  permanent  ledge,  weren't  we?" 

"  Right  you  are,  pardner." 

"  Well,  then,  at  the  same  angle,  we  would  have 
to  drift  less  than  seventy  feet  on  the  seven-hun- 
dred-foot level  to  cut  it  again,  and  at  the  eight- 
hundred-foot  we'd  just  about  have  it  at  the  foot 
of  the  shaft.  Well,  I'm  sinking,  regardless  of 
expense." 


"  MR.  SLOAN  SPEAKS  "  243 

"  It  might  be  right,  boy,  it  might  be  right," 
Bill  said,  thoughtfully  scowling  at  the  plans,  and 
going  over  the  figures  of  the  dip.  "  But  you're 
the  boss.  What  you  say  goes." 

"  But  don't  you  think  I'm  right?  " 

"  Yes,"  hesitatingly,  "  or,  anyway,  it's  worth 
takin'  a  chance  on.  Bells  used  to  say  the  mines 
around  here  all  had  to  get  depth,  and  that  most 
of  the  ledges  came  in  stronger  as  they  went  down. 
The  Cross  ain't  shown  it  so  far,  but  eight  hun- 
dred feet  ought  to  show  whether  that's  the  right 
line  of  work." 

"How  is  the  sump  hole  under  the  shaft?" 
Dick  asked. 

"  Must  be  somewhere  about  seventy  or  eighty 
feet  of  water  in  it;  but  we  can  pump  that  out  in 
no  time.  She  isn't  makin'  much  water.  Almost 
a  dry  mine  now,  for  some  reason  I  don't  quite 
get.  Looks  as  if  it  leaked  away  a  good  deal, 
somewhere,  through  the  formation.  There 
wouldn't  be  no  trouble  in  sinkin'  the  shaft." 

"  And  thirty  feet,  about,  would  bring  us  to 
the  seven-hundred-foot  mark?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Then  I'll  tell  you  what  I  want  to  do :  I  want 
you  to  shift  the  crew  so  that  there  is  a  day  and 
a  night  shift.  The  rebuilding  of  the  dam  can  be 


244  THE  PLUNDERER 

put  off  for  a  while,  except  for  such  work  as  the 
millmen  are  agreeable  to  take  on.  I  want  to  sink ! 
I  don't  want  to  waste  any  time  about  it.  I  want 
to  go  down  just  as  fast  as  it  can  be  done,  and 
when  we  get  to  the  seven-hundred-foot,  one  gang 
must  start  to  drift  for  the  green  lead,  and  the 
others  must  keep  going  down." 

He  was  almost  knocked  over  the  desk  by  a 
rousing,  enthusiastic  slap  on  the  back. 

"Now  you're  my  old  pardner  again!"  Bill 
shouted.  "  You're  the  lad  again  that  was  fresh 
from  the  schools,  knew  what  he  wanted,  and  went 
after  it.  Dick,  I've  been  kind  of  worried  about 
you  since  we  came  here,"  the  veteran  went  on,  in 
a  softer  tone  of  voice.  "  You  ain't  been  like  the 
old  Dick.  You  ain't  had  the  zip !  It's  as  if  you 
were  afraid  all  the  time  of  losing  Sloan's  money, 
and  it  worried  you.  And  sometimes — now,  I 
don't  want  you  to  get  sore  and  cuss  me — it  seemed 
to  me  as  if  your  mind  wa'n't  altogether  on  the 
job!  As  if  the  Cross  didn't  mean  everything." 

He  waited  expectantly  for  a  moment,  as  if 
inviting  a  confidence;  then,  observing  that  the 
younger  man  was  flushed,  and  not  looking  at  him, 
grinned  knowingly,  and  trudged  out  of  the  office, 
calling  back  as  he  went :  "  There'll  be  sump  water 
in  the  creek  in  half  an  hour." 


"  MR.  SLOAN  SPEAKS  "  245 

As  if  imbued  with  new  energy,  he  ordered  one 
of  the  idle  millmen  to  act  as  stoker,  if  he  cared 
to  do  so,  which  was  cheerfully  done,  had  the  extra 
pump  attached,  saw  the  fire  roaring  from  another 
boiler,  and  by  noon  the  shaft  rang  with  the  steady 
throb  of  the  pistons  pounding  and  pulling  the 
waste  water  upward.  The  last  of  the  unwatering 
of  the  Cross  was  going  forward  in  haste.  By  six 
o'clock  in  the  evening  he  reported  that  soundings 
showed  that  the  map  had  not  been  checked  up, 
and  that  the  shaft  was  seven  hundred  and  ten 
feet  deep,  and  that  they  would  commence  a  drift 
on  the  seven-hundred-foot  mark  the  next  day. 

Dick  was  awakened  at  an  early  hour,  and  found 
Bill  missing.  He  went  over  to  the  hoist  house, 
where  a  sleepy  night  man,  new  to  the  hours, 
grinned  at  him  with  a  pleasant:  "Looks  like 
we're  busy,  just — the — same,  Mr.  Townsend! 
The  old  man  " — the  superintendent  of  a  mine  is 
always  "  the  old  man,"  be  he  but  twenty — "  left 
orders  last  night  that  when  the  water  was  clear 
at  seven  hundred  feet  he  was  to  be  called.  He 
kicked  up  two  of  the  drill  men  at  four  this  morn- 
in',  and  they're  down  there  puttin'  the  steel  into 
the  rock  ever  since.  Hear  'em?  He's  makin' 
things  hump !  " 

Dick  leaned  over  the  unused  compartment  of 


246  THE  PLUNDERER 

the  shaft,  and  heard  the  steady,  savage  chugging 
of  the  drills.  Bill  was  "  makin'  things  hump !  " 
with  a  vengeance. 

A  man  who  had  been  sent  to  the  camp  for  the 
semi-weekly  mail  arrived  while  the  partners  were 
at  breakfast,  and  the  first  letter  laid  before  them 
was  one  with  a  New  York  postmark,  which  Dick 
read  anxiously.  It  was  from  Sloan,  who  told 
him  that  he  had  been  unexpectedly  called  to  the 
Pacific  coast  on  a  hurried  trip,  and  that,  while 
he  did  not  have  time  to  visit  the  Croix  d'Or,  he 
very  earnestly  hoped  that  Dick  would  arrange,  on 
receipt  of  the  letter,  to  meet  him  in  Seattle,  and 
named  a  date. 

"  Whe-e-w!  You  got  to  move  some,  ain't  you? 
Let's  see,  if  you  want  to  meet  him  you'll  have  to 
be  hittin'  the  trail  out  of  here  in  an  hour,"  said 
Bill,  laying  down  his  knife  and  fork.  "  What  do 
you  s'pose  is  up?  Coin'  to  tie  the  poke  strings 
again?  " 

Dick  feared  something  was  amiss.  And  he  con- 
tinued to  think  of  this  after  he  had  written  a  hasty 
note  to  Joan,  telling  her  of  his  abrupt  absence, 
and  that  he  expected  to  return  in  a  week.  He  pon- 
dered for  a  moment  whether  or  not  to  add  some 
note  of  affection,  but  decided  that  he  was  still 


"  MR.  SLOAN  SPEAKS  "  247 

under  her  ban,  and  so  contented  himself  with  the 
closing  line: 

"  I  am  following  your  advice.  We  are 
sinking!  " 

He  had  to  run,  bag  in  hand,  to  catch  the  stage 
from  Goldpan,  and  as  it  jolted  along  over  the 
rough  passes  and  rugged  inclines  had  a  medley 
of  thought.  Sometimes  he  could  not  imagine  why 
Sloan  had  been  so  anxious  to  talk  with  him,  and 
in  the  other  and  happier  intervals,  he  thought 
of  Joan  Presby,  daughter  of  the  man  whom  he 
had  come  to  regard  as  antagonistic  in  many  ways. 

The  confusion  of  mind  dwelt  with  him  persist- 
ently after  he  had  boarded  the  rough  "  accommo- 
dation "  that  carried  him  to  the  main  line,  where 
he  must  wait  for  the  thunderous  arrival  of  the 
long  express  train  that  was  to  carry  him  across 
the  broad  and  splendid  State  of  Washington. 
Idaho  and  Oregon  were  left  behind.  The  mag- 
nificent wheat  belt  spread  from  horizon  to  hori- 
zon, and  harvesters  paused  to  wave  their  hats  at 
the  travelers.  The  Western  ranges  of  the  Olym- 
pics, solid,  dignified,  and  engraved  against  the 
sky  with  their  outline  of  peak  and  forest,  came 
into  view,  and  yet  his  perturbation  continued. 

He  saw  the  splendid  panorama  of  Puget  Sound 
open  to  his  view,  and  the  train,  at  last,  after  those 


248  THE  PLUNDERER 

weary  hours  of  jolting,  rattled  into  the  long  sheds 
that  at  that  time  disgraced  the  young  giant  city 
of  the  North-west.  It  was  the  first  time  he  had 
even  entered  its  shadows,  and  as  he  turned  its 
corner  he  looked  curiously  at  the  stump  of  a  tree 
that  had  been  hollowed  into  an  ample  office,  and 
was  assailed  by  the  strident  cries  of  cabmen. 

"  The  Butler  House,"  he  said,  relinquishing  his 
bag  into  the  hands  of  the  first  driver  who  reached 
him,  and  settled  back  into  the  cushions  with  a 
sense  of  bewilderment,  as  if  something  long  for- 
gotten had  been  recalled.  He  knew  what  it  was 
as  he  drove  along  in  all  that  clamor  of  sound 
which  issues  from  a  great  and  hurrying  city.  It 
was  New  York,  and  he  was  in  the  young  New 
York  of  the  North-west,  with  great  skeleton  struc- 
tures uprearing  and  the  turmoil  of  building.  Only 
here  was  a  difference,  for  side  by  side  on  the 
streets  walked  men  clad  in  the  latest  fashion,  and 
men  bound  to  or  coming  from  the  arctic  fields  of 
gold-bound  Alaska.  Electric  cars  tearing  along 
at  a  reckless  speed,  freight  wagons  heavily  laden, 
newsboys  screaming  the  call  of  extras,  and  emerg- 
ing from  behind  log  wagons,  and  everything 
betokening  that  clash  of  the  old  and  the  intensely 
new. 

At  the  Butler  House  the  man  behind  the  desk 


"  MR.  SLOAN  SPEAKS  "  249 

twirled  the  register  toward  him,  and  assigned  him 
a  room. 

"  Sloan?  "  he  replied  to  Dick's  inquiry.  "  Oh, 
yes.  He's  the  old  chap  from  New  York  who  said 
he  was  expecting  someone,  and  to  send  him  right 
up.  I  suppose  you're  the  man.  Here,  boy,  show 
Mr.  Townsend  to  five-fifty.  Right  that  way,  sir." 

And  before  his  words  were  finished  he  had 
turned  to  a  new  arrival. 

The  clamor  of  the  streets,  busy  as  is  no  other 
city  in  the  world  busy  when  the  season  is  on,  was 
still  in  his  ears,  striking  a  familiar  note  in  his 
memory,  and  the  modernity  of  the  elevator,  the 
brass-buttoned  boy,  and  the  hotel  itself  brought 
back  the  last  time  he  had  seen  Mr.  Sloan,  and  the 
day  he  had  parted  from  his  father  in  that  office 
on  Wall  Street.  He  found  the  Wall  Street  vet- 
eran grayer,  much  older,  and  more  kindly,  when 
he  was  ushered  into  the  room  to  receive  his  greet- 
ing. He  subsided  into  a  chair,  but  his  father's 
old-time  friend  protested. 

"  Stand  up !  "  he  commanded,  "  and  turn 
around,  young  fellow,  so  I  can  see  whether  you 
have  filled  out.  Humph!  You'll  do,  I  guess, 
physically.  I  don't  think  I  should  want  to  have 
any  trouble  with  you.  You  look  as  if  you  could 


250  THE  PLUNDERER 

hold  your  own  most  anywhere.  I'm  glad.  Now, 
sit  down,  and  tell  me  all  about  the  mine." 

He  listened  while  Dick  went  into  details  of  the 
work,  sparing  none  of  the  misfortunes  and 
disappointments,  and  telling  of  the  new  method 
employed.  He  was  interrupted  now  and  then  by 
a  shrewd  question,  an  exclamation,  or  a  word  of 
assent,  and,  after  he  had  finished  the  account,' 
said:  "  Well,  that  is  all  there  is  to  report.  What 
do  you  think?  " 

"  Who  is  Thomas  W.  Presby?  "  Sloan's  ques- 
tion was  abrupt. 

"  The  owner  of  the  Rattler,  the  mine  next 
to  us." 

"  He  is?  "  the  question  was  explosive.  "  Ah, 
ha !  The  moth  in  the  closet,  eh?  So  that  accounts 
for  it!  I  spent  a  hundred  dollars,  then,  to  good 
purpose,  it  seems  to  me !  " 

Dick  looked  an  intent  and  wondering  question. 

"  An  agent  here  in  Seattle  wrote  me  that  they 
had  written  you,  making  an  offer  of  sixty  thousand 
dollars  for  the  property — yes — the  same  one  you 
wrote  me  about.  He  said  they  had  reason  to  be- 
lieve I  was  the  financial  backer  for  the  mine,  and 
that  they  now  wished  to  deal  with  me,  inasmuch 
as  you  might  be  carried  away  by  youthful  enthu- 
siasm to  squandering  my  hard-earned  cash.  I 


"MR.  SLOAN  SPEAKS"  251 

wrote  back  that  your  judgment  satisfied  me. 
Then,  just  before  I  left,  I  got  a  flat  offer  of  a  hun- 
dred thousand  dollars  for  the  property  in  full,  or 
seventy-five  thousand  for  my  share  alone.  It  set 
me  to  thinking,  and  wondering  if  some  one  wasn't 
trying  to  cut  your  feet  from  under  you.  So,  hav- 
ing business  in  Portland,  I  came  on  up  here,  and 
got  after  this  agent." 

Dick  had  a  chill  of  apprehension.  He  knew 
before  the  loyal  old  man  had  proceeded  half-way 
what  to  expect. 

"  It  cost  me  a  hundred  dollars  in  entertainment, 
and  a  lot  of  apparent  readiness  to  talk  business,  to 
get  him  confidential  with  me.  Then  I  got  the 
name  of  the  would-be  purchaser,  under  injunctions 
of  secrecy,  because  those  were  the  agent's  positive 
instructions.  The  man  who  wants  to  buy  is 
Presby!" 

For  one  black,  unworthy  mstant,  Dick  looked 
out  of  the  window,  wondering  if  it  were  possible 
that  Joan  had  known  of  her  father's  efforts,  and 
had  withheld  the  information.  Then  the  mem- 
ory of  that  gentle  face,  the  candid  eyes,  her  cou- 
rageous advice,  and — last  of  all — the  kiss  and 
prayer  on  her  lips,  made  him  mentally  reproach 
himself  for  the  thought.  But  he  remembered 
that  he  still  owed  affection  and  deference  to  the 


252  THE  PLUNDERER 

stanch  old  man  who  sat  before  him,  who  had  been 
his  benefactor  in  an  hour  of  need,  and  backed 
faith  with  money. 

"  Well,  sir,"  he  said,  turning  to  meet  the  kindly 
eyes,  "  what  do  you  think  of  it?  " 

"  Think  of  it?  Think  of  it?  "  Sloan  replied, 
raising  his  voice.  "  I'll  tell  you  my  answer.  '  You 
sit  down,'  I  said,  '  and  write  this  man  Presby  that 
I  knew  no  one  in  connection  with  the  Croix  d'Or 
but  the  son  of  the  man  who  many  times  befriended 
me,  in  desperate  situations  when  I  needed  it! 
That  I  was  paying  back  to  the  son  what  I  was  un- 
fortunately prevented  from  paying  back  to  the 
father — a  constant  gratitude!  That  I'd  see  him 
or  any  other  man  in  their  graves  before  I'd  sell 
Richard  Townsend  out  in  that  way.  That  I'd 
back  Dick  Townsend  on  the  Croix  d'Or  as  long 
as  he  wanted  me  to,  and  that  when  he  gave  that 
up,  I'd  still  back  him  on  any  other  mine  he  said 
was  good!  '  That's  what  I  said!  " 

He  had  lost  his  calm,  club  poise,  and  was  again 
the  virulent  business  man  of  that  Wall  Street  bat- 
tle, waged  daily,  where  men  must  have  force  or 
fail  to  survive.  Dick  saw  in  him  the  man  who  was, 
the  man  who  at  times  had  shaken  the  financial 
world  with  his  desperate  bravery  and  daring,  back 
in  the  days  when  giants  fought  for  the  beginnings 


"  MR.  SLOAN  SPEAKS  "  253 

of  supremacy.  He  felt  very  inexperienced  and 
young,  at  he  looked  at  this  veteran  with  scars, 
and  impulsively  rose  to  his  feet  and  held  out  his 
hand.  He  was  almost  dumb  with  gratitude. 

"  I  shouldn't  have  asked  you  to  say  so  much," 
he  said.  "  I  am — well — I  am  sort  of  down  and 
out  with  it  all !  I  feel  a  little  bit  as  I  did  when  the 
Cornell  eleven  piled  on  top  of  me  in  the  annual, 
when  I  played  half-back." 

"  Hey!  And  wasn't  that  a  game  1  "  the  old  man 
suddenly  enthused,  with  sparkling  eyes.  "  And 
how  your  father  and  I  did  yell  and  howl  and  beat 
the  heads  of  those  in  front  1  Gad !  I  remember 
the  old  man  had  a  silk  hat,  and  he  banged  it  up 
and  down  on  a  bald  head  in  front  until  there  was 
nothing  but  a  rim  left,  and  then  looked  as  sheep- 
ish as  a  boy  caught  stealing  apples  when  he  real- 
ized what  he  had  done.  Oh,  but  your  Daddy  was 
a  man,  even  if  he  did  have  a  temper,  my  boy!  " 

His  eyes  sparkled  with  a  fervid  love  of  the 
game  of  his  college  days,  and  he  seemed  to  have 
dismissed  the  Croix  d'Or  from  his  mind,  as  if  it 
were  of  no  importance.  Nor  did  he,  during  the 
course  of  that  visit,  refer  to  it  again.  He  made 
exception,  when  he  shook  hands  with  Dick  at  the 
train. 

"  Don't  let  anybody  bluff  you,"  he  said.     "  Re- 


254  THE  PLUNDERER 

member  that  a  brave  front  alone  often  wins.  If 
you  fail  with  the  Croix  the  world  is  still  big,  and 
— well — you're  one  of  my  legatees.  Good-by. 
Good  luck!" 

Again  Dick  endured  the  rumbling  of  trains 
through  long  hours,  the  change  from  one  to 
another  at  small  junctions,  the  day  and  night  in  a 
stage  coach  whose  springs  seemed  to  have  lost 
resiliency,  and  the  discourse  of  two  drummers, 
Hebraic,  the  chill  aloofness  of  a  supercilious  min- 
ing expert  new  to  the  district,  and  the  heated  dis- 
cussions of  two  drill  runners,  veterans,  off  to  a 
new  field,  and  celebrating  the  journey  with  a  demi- 
john. The  latter  were  union  men,  and  long  after 
he  was  tired  of  their  babel  they  broached  a  con- 
versation which  brought  Dick  to  a  point  of  eager 
listening. 

"Yes,  you  see,"  one  of  the  men  asserted; 
"  they  got  the  goods  on  him.  Thompson  had 
been  a  good  delegate  until  he  got  the  finger  itch, 
then  he  had  an  idea  he  could  use  the  miners'  union 
to  scratch  'em.  He  held  up  one  or  two  small 
mines  before  the  big  guns  got  wise.  That  got 
him  to  feelin'  his  oats,  and  he  went  for  bigger 
game." 

"  But  how  did  they  get  him?  "  the  other  run- 
ner insisted. 


"MR.  SLOAN  SPEAKS"  255 

"  They  got  him  over  here  to  where  we're  goin 
— Goldpan.  He  held  up  some  fellers  that's  got 
a  mine  called  the  Craw  Door,  or  somethin'  like 
that.  Fetched  three  of  his  pals  from  Denver 
with  him.  They  called 'emselves  miners !  God! 
Miners  nothin' !  They'd  worked  around  Cripple 
Creek  long  enough  to  get  union  cards,  but  two  of 
'em  was  prize  fighters,  and  the  other  used  to  be 
bouncer  at  the  old  Alcazar  when  she  was  the  hot- 
test place  to  lose  money  that  ever  turned  a 
crooked  card.  I  remember  there  one  time 
when — " 

"  Nobody  asked  you  about  that,"  growled  the 
other  man.  "  What  I'm  interested  in  is  about 
this  big  stiff,  Thompson." 

"  Him?  Oh,  yes.  Where  was  I?  Well,  he 
fixed  things  for  a  hold-up.  Was  goin'  to  get  these 
fellers  at  the  Craw  Door  to  untie  their  pokes,  but 
they  don't  stand  for  it.  He  packs  a  meetin'  with 
a  lot  of  swampers  that  don't  know  nothin'  about 
the  case,  and  before  they  gets  done  they  votes  a 
strike,  and  an  old  feller  from  this  Craw  Door  gets 
his  time.  Gets  kicked  to  death,  the  same  as  they 
uster  in  Park  City  when  the  Cousin  Jacks  from 
the  Ontario  cut  loose  on  one  another.  The  Den- 
ver council  takes  cawgnizance  of  this,  and  investi- 
gates. It  snoops  around  till  it  gets  the  goods. 


256  THE  PLUNDERER 

Then — wow!  bing!  goes  this  here  Thompson. 
They  sue  him  themselves,  and  now  he's  up  in 
Canon  City,  a-lookin'  plaintive  like  through  these 
things."* 

He  held  his  knotted,  rough  fingers  open  before 
his  face,  and  jerked  his  head  sideways,  simulating 
a  man  peering  through  penitentiary  bars.  Then, 
with  a  roar,  he  started  in  to  bellow,  "  The  union 
forever — hooraw,  boys  hooraw!  "  in  which  his 
companion,  forgetting  all  the  story,  joined  until 
it  was  again  time  to  tilt  the  wicker-covered  jug. 

And  so  that  was  the  end  of  Thompson  and  pre- 
sumably the  strike,  Dick  thought,  as  he  settled 
back  into  the  corner  he  had  claimed.  And  it  was 
easy  to  see,  with  this  damning  evidence  to  be 
brought  forward,  that  Bells  Park's  murderers 
would  pay,  to  the  full,  the  penalty.  For  them,  on 
trial,  it  meant  nothing  less  than  life.  He  was  hu- 
man enough  to  be  glad. 

The  stage  rattled  into  Goldpan,  and,  stiff  and 
sore  from  his  journey,  he  began  his  tramp  toward 
the  trail  of  the  cut-off  leading  homeward:  He 
stopped  but  once.  It  was  in  front  of  the  High 
Light,  where  a  small  scrap  of  paper  still  clung 
to  the  plate  glass.  On  it  was  written,  In  a  hur- 
ried, but  firm  and  womanly,  handwriting: 


11  MR.  SLOAN  SPEAKS  "  257 

This  place  is  closed  for  good.  It  is  not  for 
sale.  It  has  held  hell.  Hereafter  it  shall  hold 
nothing  but  cobwebs. 

LILY  MEREDITH. 

The  date  was  that  of  the  tragic  night,  the  night 
when  Bells  Park,  fighting  for  those  on  whom  he 
had  bestowed  a  queer,  distorted  affection,  had 
been  kicked  to  death  by  the  ruffians  now  cowering 
in  a  distant  jail! 

Verily  the  camp  and  the  district  had  memories 
for  him  as  he  trudged  away  from  its  straggling 
shanties,  and  filled  his  lungs  with  the  fresh,  free 
air  from  the  wide,  rugged  stretches  beyond. 
When  he  came  through  the  borders  of  the  Rattler 
he  looked  eagerly,  insistently,  for  a  glimpse  of  his 
heart's  desire,  and  thought,  with  annoyance,  that 
he  did  not  so  much  as  know  the  cabin  which  she 
called  home.  But  he  was  not  rewarded.  It  was 
still  the  same,  with  no  enlivening  touch  of  form 
or  color,  the  same  spider-web  tramways  debouch- 
ing into  the  top  of  the  mill,  the  same  sullen  roar 
and  rumble  of  falling  stamps,  the  same  columns 
of  smoke  from  tall  chimney  and  humble  log  struc- 
ture, alike,  and  the  same  careless  clash  of  the 
breakers. 

Bill  came  hurrying  down  the  trail  to  meet  him, 
waving  his  hat,  and  shouting  a  welcome.  Up  at 


258  THE  PLUNDERER 

the  yard  the  smith  held  a  black  hand  and  muscled 
arm  up  to  shade  his  eyes  from  the  last  sunlight, 
and  then  shook  a  hammer  aloft.  From  the  door 
of  the  engine  room  the  man  who  had  been  Bells' 
assistant  bawled  a  greeting,  and  the  fat  cook 
shook  a  ladle  at  him  through  the  mess-house  win- 
dow. It  all  gave  him  an  immense  and  satisfac- 
tory warmth  of  home-coming,  and  the  Croix  d'Or, 
with  its  steadfast,  friendly  little  colony,  was  home 
in  truth ! 

;'  We're  in  sixty  feet  on  the  seven-hundred- 
foot,"  Bill  grinned,  with  the  air  of  one  giving 
a  pleasant  surprise,  "  and  say,  boy,  we've  hit  the 
edge  of  ore.  You  were  all  right.  The  green 
lead  is  still  there,  only  she  looks  better  to  me 
than  she  did  before,  and  I  know  rock,  some." 

There  was  nothing  wanting  in  the  pleasure  of 
his  return,  and  the  last  addition  to  that  satisfac- 
tory day  was  a  note  he  found,  lying  on  the  very 
top  of  other  letters  awaiting  him.  It  was  from 
Joan  Presby,  and  Bill,  starting  to  enter  the  office, 
saw  his  partner's  face  in  the  light  of  the  lamp, 
smiled  affectionately,  and  then  tiptoed  away  into 
the  darkness,  as  if  to  avoid  intrusion  at  such  a 
time. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

BENEFITS  RETURNED 

DICK  waited  impatiently  at  the  rendezvous, 
saw  Joan  coming,  hurried  to  meet  her, 
and  was  restrained  from  displaying  his 
joy  by  her  upheld  hand,  as  she  smiled  and  cau- 
tioned: "Now,  steady,  Dick!  You  know  we 
were  not  to — to — be  anything  but  comrades  for 
a  while  yet." 

He  was  compelled  to  respect  her  wishes,  but 
his  eyes  spoke  all  that  his  tongue  might  have  ut- 
tered. In  the  joy  of  meeting  her,  he  had  forgot- 
ten the  part  played  by  her  father  in  his  surrepti- 
tious attempt  to  gain  possession  of  the  Croix 
d'Or:  but  her  first  words  reminded  him  of  it: 

"  It  has  been  terribly  lonesome  since  you  left. 
I  have  felt  as  if  the  whole  world  had  deserted  me. 
Dad  is  not  a  cheery  sort  of  companion,  because  he 
is  so  absorbed  by  the  Rattler  that  he  lives  with  it, 
eats  with  it,  sleeps  with  it.  And,  to  make  him 

259 


260  THE  PLUNDERER 

worse,  something  appears  to  have  upset  him  in  the 
last  week  or  ten  days  until  a  bear  would  be  a 
highly  lovable  companion  by  comparison." 

She  failed  to  notice  the  gravity  of  his  face,  for 
he  surmised  how  Sloan's  answer  must  have  af- 
fected the  owner  of  the  Rattler,  who  strode  merci- 
lessly over  all  obstacles  and  men,  but  now  had 
come  to  one  which  he  could  not  surmount.  He 
wondered  how  obdurate  Bully  Presby  would 
prove  if  the  time  ever  came  when  he  dared  ask 
for  Joan,  and  whether,  if  the  father  refused, 
Joan's  will  would  override  this  opposition. 

Studying  the  lines  of  her  face,  and  the  firm  con- 
tour of  her  chin  as  it  rounded  into  the  grace  of  her 
throat,  he  had  a  joyful  sense  of  confidence  that 
she  would  not  prove  wanting,  and  dismissed  Bully 
Presby  from  his  thoughts.  With  a  great  embar- 
rassment, he  fumbled  in  the  pocket  of  his  shirt, 
and  brought  out  a  little  box  which  he  opened,  to 
display  a  glittering  gem.  He  held  it  toward  her, 
in  the  palm  of  his  hand;  but  she  pulled  her  gloves 
over  her  fingers,  and  blushed  and  laughed. 

"  It  seems  to  me,"  she  declared,  "'  that  you 
have  plenty  of  assurance. 

"Why?"  he  insisted. 

"  Because  I  haven't  made  my  mind  up — that 
far,  yet,  and  because  if  I  had  I  shouldn't  say  so 


BENEFITS  RETURNED  261 

until  the  Croix  d'Or  had  been  proven  one  way  or 
the  other." 

She  stopped,  awkwardly  embarrassed,  as  if  her 
objection  had  conveyed  a  suggestion  that  his  finan- 
cial standing  had  a  bearing  on  her  acceptance,  and 
hastened  to  rectify  it: 

"  Not  that  its  success  or  the  money  it  would 
bring  has  anything  to  do  with  it." 

"  But  if  it  failed?  "  he  interrogated,  striving  to 
force  her  to  an  admission. 

'"  I  should  accept  you  as  quickly  as  if  it  were  a 
success;  perhaps  more  quickly,  for  I  have  money 
enough.  But  that  isn't  it.  Don't  you  see,  can't 
you  understand,  that  I  want  you  to  make  good  just 
to  show  that  you  can?  " 

"  Yes,"  he  answered  gloomily.  "  But  if  I 
didn't  feel  quite  confident,  I  shouldn't  offer  you 
the  ring.  And  if  I  failed,  I  shouldn't  ask  you." 

"  Then  you  musn't  fail,"  she  retorted.  "  And, 
do  you  know,"  she  hastened,  as  if  eager  to  change 
the  subject,  and  get  away  from  such  a  trying  pass, 
"  that  I've  never  seen  the  Croix  since  you  took 
possession  of  it?  " 

"  Come  now,"  he  said,  with  boyish  eagerness. 
"  I've  wanted  you  to  see  what  we  are  doing  for 
weeks — yes,  months.  Will  you?  We  can  lead 
your  horse  down  over  the  trail  easily." 


262  THE  PLUNDERER 

He  walked  by  her  side,  the  black  patiently  fol- 
lowing them,  and  told  her  of  what  had  been  ac- 
complished in  his  absence,  and  of  their  plans. 
She  listened  gravely,  offering  such  sage  advice  now 
and  then  that  his  admiration  of  her  knowledge 
constantly  increased.  There  were  but  few  men  in 
sight  as  they  crossed  the  head  of  the  canon,  and 
came  slowly  down  past  the  blacksmith  shop. 

"'Why,  if  there  isn't  Mr.  Clark!"  she  ex- 
claimed, and  the  smith  looked  up,  grinned,  drop- 
ped his  tongs,  and  came  toward  them,  wiping  his 
hand  on  his  smudgy  apron. 

"  Hello,  Joan !  "  he  called  out.  "  You're  a  bit 
bigger'n  you  used  to  be,  when  I  made  iron  rings 
for  you." 

"  Oh,  Smuts,"  she  laughed  happily,  stepping  to 
meet  him,  "  do  you  know  I  still  have  one,  and  that 
it's  in  my  jewel  case,  among  my  most  precious 
possessions?  " 

She  held  out  her  white,  clean  hand,  and  he  al- 
most seized  it  in  his  grimy,  fist,  then  drew  her 
back. 

"  'Most  forgot!  "  he  declared.  "  I  reckon  I'd 
muss  that  up  some  if  I  took  it  in  my  fist." 

"  Then  muss  it,"  she  laughed.  "  You  weren't 
always  so  particular."  And  he  grabbed,  held^ 


BENEFITS  RETURNED  263 

and  patted  the  hand  that  he  had  known  in  its 
childhood. 

"  Why,  little  Joan,"  he  growled,  with  a  sus- 
picious softness  in  his  voice,  "  you  ain't  changed 
none  since  you  used  to  sit  on  the  end  of  that  old- 
fashioned  forge,  dirty  up  your  pinafores,  and  cry 
when  Bully  led  you  off.  Him  and  me  ain't  friends 
no  more,  so's  you  could  notice.  Seven  years  now 
since  I  hit  him  for  cussin'  me  for  somethin'  that 
wa'n't  my  fault!  But,  by  gee  whiz,  old  Bully 
Presby  could  go  some !  We  tipped  an  anvil  over 
that  day,  and  wrecked  a  bellows  before  they 
pulled  us  off  each  other.  I've  always  wondered, 
since  then  which  of  us  is  the  better  man!  " 

He  spoke  with  such  an  air  of  regret  that  Joan 
and  Dick  laughed  outright,  and  in  the  midst  of  it 
a  shadow  came  across  their  own,  and  they  turned 
to  meet  the  amused,  complacent  stare  of  Bill.  In 
acknowledging  the  introduction,  Joan  felt  that  his 
piercing  eyes  were  studying  her,  probing  her  soul, 
as  appraisingly  as  if  seeking  to  lay  her  appearance 
and  character  bare.  His  harsh,  determined  face 
suddenly  broke  into  a  wondrous  warmth  of  smile, 
and  he  impulsively  seized  her  hand  again. 

"  Say,"  he  said,  "  you'll  do !  You're  all  right !  " 

And  she  knew  intuitively  that  this  giant  of  the 
hills  and  lonely  places  had  read  her,  with  all  her 


264  THE  PLUNDERER 

emotions  and  love,  as  he  would  read  print,  and 
that,  with  the  quick  decision  of  such  men,  he  was 
prepared  to  give  her  loyal  friendship  and  affection. 

They  walked  slowly  around  the  plant,  Dick 
pointing  out  their  technical  progress  as  they  went, 
and  she  still  further  gained  Bill's  admiration  in 
the  assay-house  when  she  declared  that  she  had 
a  preference  for  another  kind  of  furnace  than 
they  were  using. 

"  Why,  say,  Miss  Presby,  can  you  assay?  "  he 
burst  out. 

"  Assay!"  she  said.  "Why,  I  lived  in  the 
assay-house  at  two  or  three  times,  and  then 
studied  it  afterward." 

"  Hey,  up  there !  "  a  shout  came  from  the  road- 
way below. 

They  turned  and  went  out  to  the  little  cindered, 
littered  level  in  front  of  the  door,  and  looked 
down  to  where,  on  the  roadway  a  hundred  feet 
below,  a  man  stood  at  the  head  of  a  string  of  pan- 
ting burros,  and  they  recognized  in  him  a  packer 
from  Goldpan. 

"  I've  got  somethin'  here  for  you."  He  waved 
his  hand  back  toward  the  string  of  burros. 

"  What  is  it?  "  asked  Bill,  turning  to  Dick. 

"  I  don't  know  what  it  can  be.  I  have  ordered 
nothing  as  heavy  as  that  outfit  appears  to  be." 


BENEFITS  RETURNED  265 

Perplexed,  they  excused  themselves  and  de- 
scended the  slope,  leaving  Joan  standing  there  in 
front  of  the  assay  office,  and  enjoying  the  picture 
of  the  canon,  with  its  border  of  working  buildings 
on  one  side,  and  its  scattered  cabins,  mess-  and 
bunk-houses  on  the  other,  the  huge  waste  dump 
towering  away  from  the  hoist,  and  filling  the  head 
of  the  canon,  and  the  sparkle  of  the  stream 
below. 

"  It's  for  you,  all  right,"  the  packer  insisted. 
"  The  Wells  Fargo  agent  turned  it  over  to  me 
down  in  Goldpan,  and  said  the  money  had  been 
sent  to  pay  me  for  bringin'  it  up  here.  I  don't 
know  what  it  is.  It's  stones  of  some  kind." 

Still  more  perplexed,  the  partners  ordered  him 
to  take  his  pack  train  around  to  the  storage  house, 
and  Bill  led  the  way  while  his  partner  climbed 
back  up  the  hill,  and  rejoined  Joan.  He  was 
showing  her  some  of  the  assay  slips  from  the 
green  lead  when  they  heard  a  loud  call  from  the 
yard.  It  was  Bill,  beckoning.  They  went  across 
to  meet  him.  One  of  the  hitches  had  been  thrown, 
and  the  other  burros  stood  expectantly  waiting 
to  be  relieved  of  their  burdens. 

"  It's  a  tombstone,"  Bill  said  gravely.  "  It's 
for  Bell's  grave.  The  express  receipt  shows  that 
it  was  sent  by "  he  hesitated  for  a  moment, 


266  THE  PLUNDERER 

as    if   studying   whether   to   use   one   name,    or 
another,   and  then  concluded — "  The  Lily." 

He  pointed  to  a  section  of  granite  at  their  feet, 
and  on  its  polished  surface  they  read: 

Under  this  granite  sleeps  Bells  Park,  an  engi- 
neer. Murdered  in  defense  of  his  employers. 
Faithful  when  living,  and  faithful  when  dead,  to 
the  Croix  d'Or  and  all  those  principles  which 
make  a  worthy  man. 

A  sudden,  overwhelming  sadness  seemed  to 
descend  upon  them.  Bill  turned  abruptly,  and 
stepped  across  toward  the  boiler-house.  The 
whistle  sent  out  a  long-drawn,  booming  call — the 
alarm  signal  for  the  mine.  In  all  the  stress  of 
the  Croix  d'Or  it  was  the  first  time  that  note  had 
ever  been  used  save  in  drill.  The  bells  of  the 
hoist  arose  into  a  jangling  clamor.  They  heard 
the  wheels  of  the  cage  whirl  as  it  shot  downward, 
the  excited  exclamations  of  men  ascending,  some 
of  them  with  tools  in  hand,  the  running  of  a  man's 
feet,  emerging  from  the  blacksmith's  tunnel,  the 
shout  of  the  smith  to  his  helper,  and  the  labored 
running  of  the  cook  and  waiter  across  the  cinders 
of  the  yard.  Bill  slowly  returned  toward  them. 

"  We'll  have  to  get  you  to  land  it  up  there," 
he  said,  waving  his  arm  toward  the  cross  high 


BENEFITS  RETURNED  267 

above.  "  Give  us  a  hand  here,  will  you?  and  we'll 
throw  this  hitch  again." 

The  entire  force  of  the  mine  had  gathered 
around  them  before  he  had  finished  speaking,  and, 
seeing  the  stone,  understood.  Joan  caught  her 
riding  skirts  deftly  into  her  hand,  and,  with  Bill 
leading  the  way  up  the  steep  and  rock-strewn 
ascent,  they  climbed  the  peak.  The  burros  halted 
now  and  then  to  rest,  straining  under  the  heaviness 
of  their  task.  The  men  of  the  Croix  d'Or  some- 
times assisted  them  with  willing  shoulders  pushing 
behind,  and  there  by  the  mound,  on  which  flowers 
were  already  beginning  to  show  green  and  vivid, 
they  laid  out  the  sections  of  granite.  Only  the 
cook's  helper  was  absent.  Willing  hands  caught 
the  sections,  which  had  been  grooved  to  join,  and, 
tier  on  tier,  they  found  their  places  until  there 
stood,  high  and  austere,  the  granite  shaft  that  told 
of  one  man's  loyalty. 

Dick  gave  some  final  instructions  as  to  the 
rearranging  of  the  grave  and  the  little  plot  that 
had  been  created  around  it,  and  they  descended 
in  a  strange  silence,  saddened  by  all  that  had  been 
recalled.  No  one  spoke,  save  Bill,  who  gave 
orders  to  the  men  to  return  to  their  tasks,  and 
then  said,  as  if  to  himself :  "  I'd  like  mighty  well 
to  know  where  Lily  Meredith  is.  We  cain't  even 


268  THE  PLUNDERER 

thank  her.  Once  I  wondered  what  she  was. 
Now  I  know  more  than  ever.  She  was  all 
woman !  " 

And  to  this,  Joan,  putting  out  her  hand  to  bid 
them  good-by,  assented. 

The  night  shots  had  been  fired  at  five  o'clock 
— the  time  usually  selected  by  mines  working  two 
shifts — supper  had  been  eaten,  and  the  partners 
were  sitting  in  front  of  their  quarters  when  Bill 
again  referred  to  Mrs.  Meredith.  High  up  en 
the  hill,  where  the  new  landmark  had  been 
erected,  at  the  foot  of  the  cross,  the  day  shift  of 
the  Croix  d'Or  was  busied  here  and  there  in 
clearing  away  the  ground  around  the  grave  of 
the  engineer,  some  of  the  men  on  hands  and  knees 
casting  aside  small  bowlders,  others  trimming  a 
clearing  in  the  surrounding  brush,  and  still  others 
painfully  building  a  low  wall  of  rock. 

"  The  hard  work  of  findin'  out  where  The  Lily 
is,"  said  Bill  softly,  "  is  because  she  covered  her 
trail.  Nobody  knows  where  she  went.  The  stage 
driver  saw  her  on  the  train,  but  the  railway  agent 
told  him  she  didn't  buy  no  ticket.  The  conductor 
wrote  me  that  he  put  her  off  at  the  junction,  and 
that  she  took  the  train  toward  Spokane.  That's 
all !  It  ends  there  as  if  she'd  got  on  the  train, 


BENEFITS  RETURNED  269 

and  then  it  had  never  stopped.  We  cain't  even 
thank  her." 

Dick,  absorbed  in  thoughts  of  Joan,  heard  but 
little  of  what  he  said,  and  so  agreed  with  a  short: 
"  No,  that's  right."  And  Bill  subsided  into 
silence.  A  man  came  trudging  up  the  path  leading 
from  the  roadway  lower  down,  and  in  his  hand 
held  a  bundle  of  letters. 

"  Got  the  mail,"  he  said.  "  The  stage  may  run 
every  other  day  after  this,  instead  of  twice  a 
week,  the  postmaster  over  at  the  camp  told  me. 
Not  much  to-night.  Here  it  is." 

He  handed  Dick  a  bundle  of  letters,  and  then, 
sighting  the  others  on  the  side  of  the  peak  above, 
started  to  join  them,  and  take  his  share  in  that 
labor  of  respect  and  affection.  In  the  approach- 
ing twilight  Dick  ran  through  the  packet,  selected 
one  letter  addressed  to  his  partner,  and  gave  it  to 
him,  then  tore  open  the  first  one  at  hand.  It  was 
addressed  in  an  unfamiliar  and  painful  chirog- 
raphy,  with  the  postmark  of  Portland,  Ore., 
stamped  smudgily  in  its  corner.  He  began  cas- 
ually to  read,  then  went  white  as  the  laborious 
lines  flowed  and  swam  before  his  eyes: 

Dear  Mister  Townsend,  owner  of  the  cross 
mine,  I  write  you  because  I  am  afraid  I  aint  got 
your  pardners  name  right  and  because  Ive  got 


27o  THE  PLUNDERER 

something  on  my  mind  that  I  cant  keep  any  more. 
Im  the  girl  that  got  burned  at  the  High  Light. 
Your  pardner  saved  my  life  and  you  were  awful 
kind  to  me.  Everybody's  been  very  kind  to 
me  too.  I  spose  you  know  111  not  be  able  to 
work  in  dance  halls  no  more  because  Im  quite 
ugly  now  with  them  scars  all  over  my  face.  But 
that  dont  make  no  difference.  Mrs.  Meredith 
has  been  here  to  see  me  and  told  me  who  it  was 
saved  my  life.  Mrs.  Meredith  dont  want  nobody 
to  know  where  shes  gone.  Shes  not  coming  back 
any  more.  Shes  quit  the  business  and  is  running 
a  sort  of  millinery  store  in 

Here  a  name  had  been  painstakingly  obliter- 
ated, as  if  by  afterthought,  the  very  paper  being 
gouged  through  with  ink. 

Shes  paid  all  my  hospital  bills  and  when  I  get 
strong  enough  shes  going  to  let  me  go  to  work 
for  her.  But  that  aint  what  Im  writing  about 
and  this  letter  is  the  biggest  I  ever  wrote.  The 
nurse  says  Im  making  a  book.  I  wasnt  a  very 
bad  girl  or  a  very  good  girl  when  I  was  in  the 
camps.  Maybe  you  know  that  but  I  done  my  best 
and  was  as  decent  as  I  could  be.  There  was  a 
man  was  my  sweetheart  and  sometimes  when  he 
drank  too  much  he  talked  too  much.  Men  always 
say  a  whole  lot  when  theyre  full  of  rotgut,  unless 
they  get  nasty.  My  man  never  got  nasty.  Hes 
gone  away  and  I  dont  know  where.  Maybe  he 
dont  want  nothing  more  to  do  with  me  since  I  got 
my  face  burned.  Ive  kept  my  mouth  shut  until  I 
found  out  it  was  you  two  men  who  saved  me  and 


BENEFITS  RETURNED  271 

Im  writing  this  to  pay  you  back  the  only  way  I 
can.  Bully  Presby  is  stealing  all  his  best  pay  ore 
from  the  Croix  d'Or.  Hes  worked  clean  under 
you  and  got  the  richest  ledge  in  the  district.  They 
aint  nobody  but  confidential  men  ever  get  into 
that  drift.  Hes  been  stealing  that  ore  for  going 
on  two  years  andll  give  you  a  lot  of  trouble  if 
you  dont  mind  your  Ps  and  Qs.  I  hope  you  beat 
him  out,  and  I  pray  for  both  of  you. 
Your  ever  grateful, 

PEARL  WALKER. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

WHEN  REASON  SWINGS 

DICK  suddenly  crumpled  the  sheet  of  paper, 
and  put  it  in  his  pocket.  He  lifted  him- 
self, as  a  man  distracted,  from  the  chair 
in  which  he  had  been  sitting,  gripping  the  arms 
with  hands  that  were  tensely  responding  to  an 
agony  of  spirit.  He  almost  lurched  forward  as 
he  stepped  to  the  little  steps  leading  down  from 
the  porch,  and  into  the  worn  trail,  hesitated  at 
the  forks  leading  to  mess-house  or  assay  office, 
and  then  mechanically  turned  in  the  latter  direc- 
tion, it  being  where  the  greater  number  of  his 
working  hours  were  passed. 

"  Where  you  goin'?  "  the  voice  of  his  partner 
called,  as  he  plunged  forward. 

He  had  to  make  a  determined  attempt  to  speak, 
then  his  voice  broke,  harsh  and  strained,  through 
dry  lips: 

"  Assay  office." 

He  did  not  look  back,  but  went  forward,  with 
272 


WHEN  REASON  SWINGS          273 

limp  hands  and  tottering  knees,  turning  neither  to 
right  nor  left.  The  whole  world  was  a  haze. 
The  steadfast  mountain  above  him  was  a  cynical 
monster,  and  dimly,  in  the  shadow  of  the  high 
landmark,  he  discerned  a  change,  sinister,  gloat- 
ing, and  leering  on  him  and  his  misery.  The  soft 
voices  of  the  men  of  the  day  shift  returning  from 
their  voluntary  task,  the  staccato  exhaust  of  the 
hoisting  engine  bringing  up  a  load  of  ore  from  the 
refound  lead,  the  clash  of  a  car  dumping  its  load 
of  waste,  and  the  roar  of  the  Rattler's  stamps, 
softened  by  distance,  blended  into  discordance. 

He  entered  the  assay-house  like  a  whipped  dog 
seeking  the  refuge  of  its  kennel,  threw  himself 
on  a  stool  before  the  bench,  leaned  his  head  into 
his  hollowed  arms,  and  groaned  as  would  a 
stricken  warrior  of  olden  days  when  surrendering 
to  his  wounds. 

This,  then,  explained  it  all — that  sequence  of 
events,  frustrating,  harrying,  baffling  him,  since 
the  first  hour  he  had  come  to  the  mine  of  the 
Croix  d'Or.  The  rough  suggestion  of  Bully 
Presby  on  the  first  day,  discouraging  him;  thfe 
harsh  attitude;  the  persistent  attempts  to  dis- 
hearten him  and  buy  him  out;  the  endeavor  to 
buy  half  the  property  from,  and  remove  the  back- 
ing, of  Sloan,  without  which  he  could  not  go  on; 


274  THE  PLUNDERER 

the  words  of  the  watchman,  who  doubtless  had 
discovered  Bully  Presby's  secret  theft,  black- 
mailed him  as  much  as  he  could,  and,  dying, 
cursed  him;  but,  hating  the  men  of  the  mine 
more,  had  withheld  the  vital  meaning  of  his  accu- 
sation. Perhaps  Presby  had  been  instrumental  in 
Thompson's  strike.  But  no,  that  could  scarcely 
be,  although,  in  the  light  of  other  events  in  that 
iniquitous  chain,  it  might  be  possible.  That  he 
had  any  part  in  the  dynamiting  of  the  dam  or 
power-house,  Dick  cast  aside  as  unworthy  of  such 
a  man.  The  strong,  hard,  masterful,  and  domi- 
neering face  of  Bully  Presby  arose  before  him 
as  from  the  darkening  shadows  of  the  room,  and 
it  seemed  triumphant. 

He  lifted  his  head  suddenly,  thinking,  in  his 
superacute  state  of  mind,  that  he  had  heard  a 
noise.  He  must  have  air!  The  assay  office,  with 
its  smell  of  nitric  acid,  its  burned  fumes,  its  clutter 
of  broken  cupels  and  slag,  was  unbearable.  He 
arose  from  the  stool  so  suddenly  that  it  went 
toppling  over  to  fall  against  the  stacked  crucibles 
beneath  the  bench  which  lent  their  clatter  to  the 
upset.  He  stepped  out  into  the  night.  It  was 
dark,  only  the  stars  above  him  dimly  betraying 
the  familiar  shapes  of  mountains,  forests,  and 
buildings  around.  Up  in  the  bunk-house  some 


WHEN  REASON  SWINGS         275 

man  was  wailing  a  verse  of  "  Ella  Re,"  accom- 
panied by  a  guitar,  and  the  doleful  drone  of  the 
hackneyed  chorus  was  caught  up  by  the  other  men 
. "  off  shift."  But,  nauseating  as  it  was  to  him, 
this  piebald  ballad  of  the  hills,  it  contained  one 
shrieking  sentence:  "  Lost  f orevermore !  "  That 
was  it!  Joan  was  lost! 

He  looked  up  at  the  superintendent's  quarters, 
which  had  been  his  home,  and  saw  that  its  lights 
were  out.  Bill,  he  conjectured,  always  hard 
working  and  early  rising,  had  tumbled  into  his 
bed,  unconscious  of  this  tragedy.  He  struck  off 
across  the  gulch,  and  took  the  trail  he  had  so  fre- 
quently trodden  with  a  beating  heart,  and  high 
and  tender  hope.  It  led  him  to  the  black  barrier 
of  the  pipe  line,  the  place  where  first  he  had  met 
her,  the  sacred  clump  of  bushes  that  had  held 
and  surrendered  to  him  the  handkerchief 
enshrined  in  his  pocket,  the  slope  where  she  had 
leaned  down  from  her  horse  and  kissed  him  in 
the  only  caress  he  had  ever  received  from  her 
lips,  and  told  him  that  he  should  be  with  her  in 
her  prayers. 

Reverently  he  caressed  with  his  hands  the  spot 
where  she  had  so  often  sat  on  a  gray  old  bowlder, 
flat-topped.  His  heart  cried  for  one  more  sight 
of  her,  one  more  caress,  one  more  opportunity 


276  THE  PLUNDERER 

to  listen  to  her  voice  before  he  dealt  her  the  irrev- 
ocable wound  that  would  end  it  all. 

Not  for  an  instant  did  he  waver.  The  tempter, 
whispering  in  his  ear,  told  him  that  he  could  con- 
ceal his  knowledge,  advise  Sloan  to  sell,  take  his 
chance  with  Joan,  and  let  the  sleeping  dog  lie, 
forever  undiscovered.  It  told  him  that  Sloan  was 
admittedly  rich  beyond  his  needs,  and  that  with 
him  the  Croix  d'Or  was  merely  a  matter  of  senti- 
ment, and  an  opportunity  of  bestowing  on  the 
son  of  his  old-time  friend  a  chance  to  get  ahead 
in  the  world. 

But  back  of  it  all  came  the  inexorable  voice  of 
truth,  telling  Dick  that  there  was  but  one  course 
open,  and  that  was  reparation;  that  to  his  bene- 
factor he  owed  faith  and  loyalty;  that  Presby 
must  pay,  though  his — Richard  Townsend's — 
castles  crumbled  to  dust  in  the  wreckage  of  ex- 
posure. He  must  break  the  heart  and  faith  of 
the  girl  who  loved  him,  and  whom,  with  every 
fiber  of  his  being,  he  loved  in  return. 

She  would  stand  in  the  world  as  the  daughter 
of  a  colossal  thief!  Not  a  thief  of  the  marts, 
where  crookedness  was  confused  with  shrewd- 
ness far  removed  from  the  theft  of  the  hands; 
but  a  thief  who  had  burrowed  beneath  another 
man's  property,  and  carried  away,  to  coinage,  his 


WHEN  REASON  SWINGS         277 

gold.  Between  Bully  Presby  and  the  man  who 
tunneled  under  a  bank  to  loot  the  safe,  there 
was  no  moral  difference  save  in  the  romance  of 
that  mystic  underground  world  where  men  bored 
like  microbes  for  their  spoil. 

"  Joan !  Joan !  Joan !  "  he  muttered  aloud, 
as  if  she  were  there  to  hear  his  hurt  appeal. 

It  was  for  her  that  he  felt  the  wound,  and  not 
for  Bully  Presby,  her  father.  For  the  latter  he 
spared  scant  sympathy;  but  it  was  Joan  who 
would  be  stricken  by  any  action  he  might  take, 
and  the  action  must  be  taken,  and  would  neces- 
sarily be  taken  publicly. 

Under  criminal  procedure  men  had  served  long 
terms  behind  bars  for  less  offenses  than  Presby's. 
Others  had  made  reparation  through  payment  of 
money,  and  slunk  away  into  the  shadows  of  dis- 
grace to  avoid  handcuffs.  And  the  fall  of  Presby 
of  the  Rattler,  as  a  plunderer,  was  one  that  would 
echo  widely  in  the  mining  world  where  he  had 
moved,  a  stalwart,  unbending  king.  Not  until 
then  had  Dick  realized  how  high  that  figure  tow- 
ered. Presby,  the  irresistible,  a  thief,  and  fight- 
ing to  keep  out  of  the  penitentiary,  while  Joan, 
the  brave,  the  loving,  the  true,  cowered  in  her 
room,  dreading  to  look  the  world  in  the  face. 

And  he,  the  man  who  loved  her,   almost  ac- 


278  THE  PLUNDERER 

cepted  as  her  betrothed,  with  the  ring  even  then 
burning  in  his  pocket,  was  the  one  who  must  deal 
her  this  blow! 

He  got  up  and  staggered  through  the  darkness 
along  the  length  of  the  line,  almost  envying  the 
miserable  dynamiter,  who  had  died  above  the 
remnant  of  wall,  for  the  quiet  into  which  he  had 
been  thrust.  If  the  train  bringing  him  homeward 
had  been  wrecked,  and  his  life  extinguished,  he 
could  have  saved  her  this.  The  Cross  would  have 
been  sold.  She  might  have  grieved  for  him,  for 
a  time,  but  wounds  will  heal,  unless  too  deep. 
He  stood  above  the  abyss  where  daylight  showed 
ruins,  and  knew  that  the  destruction  of  the  dam, 
heavy  a  blow  as  it  had  seemed  when  inflicted,  was 
nothing  as  compared  to  this  ruin  of  dreams,  of 
love,  and  hope. 

"Dick!  Dick!  What  is  it,  boy?"  came  a 
soft  voice  from  the  night,  scarcely  above  a  whis- 
per. "  Can't  you  tell  me,  old  man?  Ain't  we 
still  pardners?  Just  as  we  uster  be?" 

He  peered  through  the  darkness,  roused  from 
his  misery  in  the  stillness  of  the  hour,  and  the 
night,  by  the  appeal.  Dimly  he  discerned,  seated 
above  him  on  the  abutment,  a  shape  outlined 
against  the  stars.  It  threw  itself  down  with  hard- 
striking  feet,  and  came  toward  him,  and  he  knew 


WHEN  REASON  SWINGS         279 

it  was  not  a  phantom  of  misery.  It  came  closer 
to  where  he  stood  on  the  brink  of  the  blackness, 
and  laid  a  hand  on  his  shoulder,  put  it  farther 
across  and  held  him,  as  tenderly  as  father  might 
have  held,  in  this  hour  of  distress. 

"  I've  been  follerin'  you,  boy,"  the  kindly  voice 
went  on.  "  I  saw  that  somethin'  had  got  you. 
That  you  were  hard  hit !  I've  been  near  you  for 
the  last  two  or  three  hours.  I  don't  know  as  I'd 
have  bothered  you  now,  if  I  hadn't  been  afraid 
you'd  fall  over.  Let's  go  back,  Dick — back  to 
the  mine." 

It  seemed  as  if  there  had  come  to  him  in  the 
night  a  strong  support.  Numbed  and  despairing, 
but  with  a  strange  relief,  he  permitted  Bill  to  lead 
him  back  over  the  trail,  and  at  last,  when  they 
were  standing  above  the  dim  buildings  below, 
found  speech. 

"  It's  her,"  he  said.  "  It's  for  her  sake  that 
I  hate  to  do  it.  It's  Joan!  " 

"  Sit  down  here  by  me,"  the  big  voice,  commis- 
erating, said.  "  Here  on  this  timber.  I've  kept  it 
to  myself,  boy,  but  I  know  all  about  her.  I  stood 
on  the  bank,  where  I'd  just  gone  to  hunt  you,  on 
that  day  she  reached  down  from  the  saddle.  I 
knew  the  rest,  and  slipped  away.  You  love  her. 
She's  done  somethin'  to  you." 


280  THE  PLUNDERER 

"  No !  "  the  denial  was  emphatic.  "  She  hasn't ! 
She's  as  true  as  the  hills.  It's  her  father.  Look 
here!" 

He  fumbled  in  his  pocket,  pulled  out  the 
crumpled  sheet,  and  struck  a  match.  Bill  took  the 
letter  in  his  hands  and  read,  while  the  night  itself 
seemed  pausing  to  shield  the  flickering  flame. 
With  hurried  fingers  he  struck  another  match,  and 
the  light  flared  up,  exposing  his  frowning  eye- 
brows, the  lights  in  his  keen  eyes,  the  tight  pres- 
sure of  his  firm  lips. 

He  handed  the  letter  back,  and  for  a  long  time 
sat  silently  staring  before  him,  his  big,  square 
shoulders  bent  forward,  and  his  hat  outlined 
against  the  light  of  the  night,  which  was  steadily 
increasing. 

"  I  see  how  it  is,"  he  said  at  last.  "  And  it's 
hard  on  you,  isn't  it,  boy?  A  man  can  stand  any- 
thing himself,  but  it's  hell  to  hurt  those  we  care 
for." 

The  sympathy  of  his  voice  cut  like  a  knife,  with 
its  merciful  hurt.  Dick  broke  into  words,  telling 
of  his  misery,  but  stammering  as  strong  men  stam- 
mer, when  laying  bare  emotions  which,  without 
pressure,  they  always  conceal.  His  partner  lis- 
tened, motionless,  absorbing  it  all,  and  his  face 


WHEN  REASON  SWINGS         281 

was  concealed  by  the  darkness,  otherwise  a  great 
sympathy  would  have  flared  from  his  eyes. 

'  We've  got  to  find  a  way  out  of  this,  Dick,"  he 
said  at  last,  with  a  sigh.  And  the  word  "  we  " 
betrayed  more  fully  than  long  sentences  his  com- 
passion. '  We  must  go  slow.  Somehow,  I 
reckon,  I'm  cooler  than  you  in  this  kind  of  a  try- 
out.  Maybe  because  it  don't  hit  me  so  close  to 
home.  Let's  go  back,  boy,  back  to  the  cabin,  and 
try  to  rest.  The  daylight  is  like  the  Lord's  own 
drink.  It  clears  the  head,  and  makes  us  see  things 
better  than  we  can  in  the  night — when  all  is  dark. 
Let's  try  to  find  a  way  out,  and  try  to  forget  it 
for  a  while.  Did  you  ever  think  how  good  it  all 
is  to  us?  Just  the  night,  coming  along  every  once 
in  a  while,  to  make  us  appreciate  how  good  the 
sun  is,  and  how  bright  the  mornings  are.  It  ain't 
an  easy  old  world,  no  matter  how  hard  we  try 
to  make  it  that;  because  it  takes  the  black  times 
to  make  our  eyes  glad  to  watch  the  sunrise.  Let 
me  help  you,  old  pardner.  We've  been  through 
some  pretty  tight  places  together,  and  somehow, 
when  He  got  good  and  ready,  the  Lord  always 
showed  us  a  way  out." 

He  arose  on  his  feet,  stretched  his  long  mus- 
cular arms,  and  started  down  the  hill,  and  Dick 
followed.  There  was  not  another  word  ex- 


282  THE  PLUNDERER 

changed,  other  than  the  sympathetic  "  good- 
night "  in  which  they  had  not  failed  for  more  than 
seven  years,  and  outside  the  stars  waned  slowly, 
the  stamp  mill  of  the  Rattler  roared  on,  and  the 
Croix  d'Or  was  unmoved. 

The  daylight  came,  and  with  it  the  boom  of 
the  night  shift  setting  off  its  morning  blasts,  and 
clearing  the  way  for  the  day  shift  that  would  fol- 
low in  sinking  the  hole  that  must  inevitably  betray 
the  dishonesty  of  the  stern  mine  master  at  the 
foot  r  i  the  hill.  Dick  had  not  slept,  and  turned 
to  '  ce  a  shadow  in  the  door. 

"  Don't  you  get  up,  Dick,"  Bill  said.  "  Just 
try  to  rest.  I  heard  you  tumblin'  around  all  the 
night.  You  don't  get  anywhere  by  doin'  that. 
A  man  has  to  take  himself  in  hand  more  than 
ever  when  there's  big  things  at  stake.  Then's 
when  he  needs  his  head.  You  just  try  to  get  some 
rest.  I'll  keep  things  goin'  ahead  all  right,  and 
there  ain't  no  call  to  do  nothin'  for  a  week  or 
ten  days — till  we  get  our  feet  on  the  ground. 
After  that  we'll  find  a  trail.  Don't  worry." 

Through  the  kindly  tones  there  ran  confidence, 
and,  entirely  exhausted,  Dick  turned  over  and 
tried  to  sleep.  It  came  to  him  at  last,  heavy  and 
dreamless,  the  sleep  that  comes  beneficently  to 
those  who  suffer.  The  sun,  creeping  westward, 


WHEN  REASON  SWINGS         283  '• 

threw  a  beam  across  his  face,  and  he  turned  rest- 
lessly, like  a  fever-stricken  convalescent,  and 
rolled  farther  over  in  the  bed. 

The  beam  pursued  him,  until  at  last  there  was 
no  further  refuge,  and  he  sat  up,  dazed  and  bewil- 
dered, and  hoping  that  all  had  been  a  nightmare, 
and  that  he  should  hear  the  cheery  note  of  the 
whistle  telling  him  that  it  was  day  again,  and 
calling  the  men  of  the  Croix  d'Or  to  work. 

It  was  monstrous,  impossible,  that  all  should 
have  changed.  It  was  but  yesterday  that  he  had 
returned  to  the  mine  with  finances  assured,  confi- 
dence restored,  and  the  certainty  that  Joan  Presby 
loved  him,  and  could  come  to  his  side  when  his 
work  was  accomplished. 

He  looked  at  his  watch  and  the  bar  of  sunlight. 
It  was  four  o'clock,  and  the  day  was  gone.  Every- 
thing was  real.  Everything  was  horrible.  He 
crawled  stiffly  from  his  bed,  thrust  his  head  into 
the  cold  water  of  the  basin,  and,  unshaven, 
stepped  out  to  the  porch  and  down  the  trail. 

The  plumes  of  smoke  still  wreathed  upward 
from  two  stacks.  Bill  was  still  driving  downward 
unceasingly.  The  mellow  clang  of  the  smith's 
hammer,  sharpening  drills,  smote  his  ears,  and 
the  rumble  of  the  cars.  The  cook,  in  a  high,  thin 
tenor,  sang  the  songs  with  which  he  habitually 


284  THE  PLUNDERER 

whiled  away  his  work.  Everything  was  the  same, 
save  him !  And  his  air  castles  had  been  blown 
away  as  by  the  wind. 

In  a  fever  of  uncertainty,  he  stood  on  the  hill- 
side and  thought  of  what  he  should  do.  He  be- 
lieved that  it  was  his  duty  to  be  the  one  to  break 
the  harsh  news  to  Joan,  and  wondered  whether 
or  not  she  might  be  found  at  the  tryst.  He 
remembered  that,  once  before  when  he  had  not 
appeared,  she  had  ridden  over  there  in  the  after- 
noon. Perhaps,  expecting  him,  and  being  disap- 
pointed, she  might  be  there  again. 

He  hurried  down  the  slope,  and  back  up  across 
the  divide  and  along  the  trail,  his  hopes  and  un- 
certainties alone  rendering  him  certain  that  she 
must  be  there,  and  paused  when  the  long,  black 
line  shone  dully  outlined  in  its  course  around  the 
swelling  boss  of  the  hill.  He  experienced  a  thrill 
of  disappointment  when  he  saw  that  she  was  not 
waiting,  and,  again  consulting  his  watch  fever- 
ishly, tramped  backward  and  forward  along  the 
confines  of  the  hallowed  place. 

At  last,  certain  from  the  fresh  hoof  marks  on 
the  yielding  slope,  that  she  had  come  and  gone, 
he  turned,  and  went  slowly  back  to  the  mine.  He 
had  a  longing  to  see  his  partner,  and  learn 
whether  or  not  Mathews,  with  that  strange,  re- 


WHEN  REASON  SWINGS         285 

sourceful  logic  of  his,  had  evolved  some  way  out 
of  the  predicament.  But  Bill  was  nowhere  in 
sight.  He  was  not  in  the  office,  and  the  mill  door 
was  locked.  The  cook  had  not  seen  him;  and  the 
blacksmith,  busy,  stopped  only  long  enough  to  say 
that  he  thought  he  had  seen  the  superintendent 
going  toward  jhe  hoisting-house. 

"Have  you  seen  Bill?"  Dick  asked  of  the 
engineer,  who  stood  at  his  levers,  and  waited  for 
a  signal. 

"  He's  below,"  the  engineer  answered,  throw- 
ing over  an  arm,  and  watching  the  cage  ascend 
with  a  car  of  ore. 

It  trundled  away,  and  Dick  stepped  into  the 
cage.  The  man  appeared  irresolute,  and  em- 
barrassed. 

"  He'll  be  up  pretty  soon,  I  think,"  he  ventured. 

"Well,  I'll  not  wait  for  him,"  Dick  said. 
"  Lower  away." 

The  man  still  stood,  irresolute. 

"  Let  her  go,  I  said,"  Dick  called  sharply,  his 
usual  patience  of  temper  having  gone. 

"  But— but "  halted  the  engineer.  "  Bill 

said  to  me,  when  he  went  down,  says  he :  '  You 
don't  let  any  one  come  below.  Understand?  I 
don't  care  if  it's  Townsend  himself.  Nobody 


286  THE  PLUNDERER 

comes  down.  You  hold  the  cage,  because  I'll  send 
the  shift  up,  and  'tend  to  the  firing  myself.'  ' 

For  an  instant  Dick  was  enraged  by  this  stub- 
bornness, and  turned  with  a  threat,  and  said: 
"Who's  running  this  mine?  I  don't  care  what 
he  said.  You  haven't  understood  him.  Lower 
away  there,  I  say,  and  be  quick  about  it !  " 

The  rails  and  engine  room  slid  away  from  him. 
The  cage  slipped  downward  on  its  oiled  bearings, 
as  if  reluctant,  and  the  light  above  faded  away 
to  a  small  pin-point  below,  and  then  died  in 
obscurity,  as  if  the  world  had  been  blotted  out. 
Only  the  sense  of  falling  told  him  that  he  was 
going  down,  down,  to  the  seven-hundred-foot 
level,  and  then  he  remembered  that  he  had  no 
candle.  The  cage  came  to  a  halt,  and  he  fumbled 
for  the  guard  bar,  lifted  it,  and  stepped  out. 

Straight  ahead  of  him  he  saw  a  dim  glow  of 
light.  With  one  hand  on  the  wall  he  started 
toward  it,  approached  it,  and  then,  in  the  hollow 
of  illumination  saw  something  that  struck  him 
like  a  blow  in  the  face.  The  hard,  resounding 
clash  of  his  heels  on  the  rock  underfoot  stopped. 
His  hands  fell  to  his  sides,  as  if  fixed  in  an  atti- 
tude of  astonishment.  Standing  in  the  light 
beyond  him  stood  Joan,  with  her  hands  raised, 
palms  outward. 


WHEN  REASON  SWINGS         287 

"Stop!"  she  commanded.  "Stop!  Stay 
where  you  are  a  moment!  " 

Amazed  and  bewildered,  he  obeyed  mechani- 
cally, and  comprehended  rather  than  saw  that, 
crouched  on  the  floor  of  the  drift  beyond,  his 
partner  knelt  with  a  watch  in  his  hand,  and  in  a 
listening  attitude.  Suddenly,  as  if  all  had  been 
waiting  for  this  moment,  a  dull  tremor  ran 
through  the  depths  of  the  Croix  d'Or.  A 
muffled,  beating,  rending  sound  seemed  to  tear 
its  way,  vibrant,  through  the  solid  ledge.  H£ 
leaped  forward,  understanding  all  at  once,  as  if 
in  a  flash  of  illumination,  what  the  woman  he 
loved  and  his  partner  had  been  waiting  for.  It 
was  the  sound  of  the  five-o'clock  blasts  from  the 
Rattler,  as  it  stole  the  ore  from  beneath  their 
feet.  It  was  the  audible  proof  of  Bully  Presby's 
theft. 

"  Joan !  My  Joan !  "  he  said,  leaping  forward. 
"  I  should  have  spared  you  this!  " 

But  she  did  not  answer.  She  was  leaning  back 
against  the  wall  of  the  tunnel,  her  hands  out- 
stretched in  semblance  of  that  cross  whose  name 

was  the  name  of  the  mine as  if  crucified  on 

its  cross  of  gold.  The  flaring  lights  of  the  candles 
in  the  sticks,  thrust  into  the  crevices  arotind,, 
lighted  her  pale,  haggard  face,  and  her  white 


288  THE  PLUNDERER 

hands  that  clenched  themselves  in  distress.  She 
looked  down  at  the  giant  who  was  slowly  lifting 
himself  from  his  knees,  with  his  clear-cut  face 
upturned;  and  the  hollows,  vibrant  with  silence, 
caught  her  whispered  words  and  multiplied  the 
sound  to  a  sibilant  wail. 

"  It's  true !"  she  said.  "It's  true  I  You  didn't 
lie !  You  told  the  truth !  My  father — my  father 
is  a  thief,  and  may  God  help  him  and  me!  " 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

THE   BULLY  MEETS    HIS   MASTER 

THE  ache  and  pain  in  her  whole  being  was 
no  greater  than  the  colossal  desire  Dick 
had   to    comfort    and    shield   her.      He 
rushed  toward  her  with  his   arms  reached  out 
to   infold,   but   she  pushed  him  back,   and  said 
hoarsely :   "  No  !  No !  I  sha'n't  let  you !     It  would 
be  an  insult  now !  " 

Her  eyes  were  filled  with  a  light  he  had  never 
seen  in  them  before,  a  commanding  flame  that 
held  him  in  check  and  stupefied  him,  as  he  tried 
to  reason  why  his  love  at  that  moment  would  be 
an  insult.  It  did  not  dawn  on  him  that  he  was 
putting  himself  in  the  position  of  one  who  was 
proffering  silence  for  affection.  All  he  knew  was 
that  everything  in  the  world  seemed  against  him, 
and,  overstrained  to  the  breaking  point,  he  was 
a  mere  madman. 

"You  brought  her  here?"  he  hoarsely  ques- 
tioned Bill. 

289 


29o  THE  PLUNDERER 

"  I  did." 

"  And  told  her  that  her  father  was  under  us?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  And  that  I  was  to  be  kept  above  ground?  " 

"  Of  course,  and  I  had  a  reason,  because — " 

He  did  not  finish  the  sentence.  The  younger 
man  shouted  a  furious  curse,  and  lunged  forward 
and  struck  at  the  same  time.  His  feet,  turning 
under  a  fragment  of  rock,  twisted  the  directness 
of  his  blow  so  that  it  lost  force;  but  its  heavy 
spat  on  the  patient  face  before  him  was  like  the 
crack  of  a  pistol  in  that  underground  chamber. 

Bill's  hands  lifted  impulsively,  and  then 
dropped  back  to  his  sides,  hanging  widely  open. 
The  flickering  candlelight  showed  a  slow  red 
stream  emerging  slowly  from  one  of  his  nostrils, 
and  running  down  across  the  firm  chin,  and  the 
pain-distorted  lips.  In  his  eyes  was  a  hurt  agony 
of  reproach,  as  if  the  knife  of  a  friend  had  been 
unexpectedly  thrust  into  his  heart.  Dick's  arm, 
tensed  by  the  insane  anger  of  his  mind,  was  drawn 
back  to  deal  another  blow,  and  seemed  to  stop 
half-way,  impotent  to  strike  that  defenseless  face 
before  him. 

"  Why  don't  you  hit  again,  boy?  I'll  not  strike 
back !  I  have  loved  you  too  much  for  that !  " 

There  was  a  world  of  misery  and  reproach  in 


THE  BULLY  MEETS  HIS  MASTER    291 

the  quiet  voice  of  the  giant,  whose  tremendous 
physical  power  was  such  that  he  could  have 
caught  the  younger  man's  arm,  and  with  one 
wrench  twisted  it  to  splintered  bone.  Before  its 
echoes  had  died  away  another  voice  broke  in, 
suffused  with  anguish,  the  shadows  waving  on  the 
walls  of  gray  rock  twisted,  and  Joan's  hands 
were  on  his  arm. 

"Dick!  Dick!  Are  you  mad?  Do  you 
know  what  you  are  doing?  " 

He  shook  her  hands  from  his  arm,  reeled 
against  the  wall,  and  raised  his  forearm  across 
his  eyes,  and  brushed  it  across,  as  if  dazed  and 
blinded  by  a  rush  of  blood  which  he  would  sweep 
away.  He  had  not  noticed  that  in  that  stagger- 
ing progress  he  had  fallen  full  against  a  candle- 
stick, and  that  it  fell  to  the  floor  and  lay  there 
between  them,  with  its  flame  slowly  increasing  as 
it  formed  a  pool  of  grease.  For  the  first  time 
since  he  had  spoken,  the  huge  miner  moved.  He 
stepped  forward,  and  ground  the  flame  underfoot. 

"  There  might  be  a  stray  cap  around  here 
somewhere,"  he  said. 

His  voice  appeared  to  rouse  the  younger  man, 
and  bring  him  to  himself.  He  stepped  forward, 
with  his  hands  behind  him  and  his  face  still  set, 


292  THE  PLUNDERER 

wild  and  drawn,  and  said  brokenly:  "  Bill!  Bill! 
Strike  back!  Do  something!  Old  friend!" 

"  I  cain't,"  came  the  reply,  in  a  helpless  mono- 
tone. "  You  know  if  it  were  any  other  man  I'd 
kill  him !  But  you  don't  understand  yet,  and — " 

"  I  made  him  bring  me  here,"  Joan  said, 
coming  closer,  until  the  shadows  of  the  three  were 
almost  together.  Her  voice  had  a  strange  hope- 
lessness in  it,  and  yet  a  calm  firmness.  "  He  came 
to  talk  it  over  with  me,  on  your  account. 
Pleading  your  cause — begging  me  that,  no  matter 
what  happened,  I  should  not  change  my  attitude 
toward  you.  Toward  you,  I  say!  He  said  your 
sense  of  honesty  and  loyalty  to  Sloan  would  drive 
you  to  demanding  restitution  even  though  it  broke 
your  heart.  He  said  he  loved  you  more  than 
anything  on  earth,  and  begged  me  to  help  him 
find  some  way  to  spare — not  me,  or  my  father — 
but  you !  " 

Dick  tried  to  speak,  but  his  throat  restricted 
until  he  clutched  it  with  his  fingers,  and  his  lips 
were  white  and  hard. 

"  I  did  not  believe  that  what  he  said  was  true," 
the  voice  went  on,  coming  as  from  depths  of  des- 
olation and  misery,  and  with  dead  levels  dulled  by 
grief  beyond  emotion.  "  I  have  believed  in  my 
father!  I  thought  there  must  be  some  mistake. 


THE  BULLY  MEETS  HIS  MASTER    293 

I  demanded  of  your  partner  that  he  lay  off  his 
own  shift,  and  bring  me  here  where  we  might 
listen.  Oh,  it  was  true — it  was  true !  " 

She  suddenly  turned  and  caught  the  steel  handle 
of  a  candlestick  in  her  hand,  and  tore  its  long  steel 
point  from  the  crevice. 

"  But  I've  found  the  way,"  she  said.  "  I've 
found  the  way.  You  must  come  with  me — now  I 
Right  now,  I  say.  We  shall  have  this  over  with, 
and  then — and  then — I  shall  go  away  from  here; 
for  always!  " 

"  Not  that,"  Dick  said,  holding  his  hands 
toward  her.  "  Not  that,  Joan !  What  are  you 
going  to  do?  " 

"  I'm  going  to  my  father.  He,  too,  must  be 
spared.  He  must  give  it  back.  It  must  never 
be  known.  I  must  save  him  disgrace.  It  must 
be  done  to-night — now!  " 

She  started  down  the  drift  toward  the  cage, 
walking  determinedly,  and  Dick's  lips  opened 
again  to  beg  her  to  come  back;  but  Bill's  hand  was 
on  his  shoulder,  and  his  grave  and  kindly  voice  in 
his  ear. 

"  Go  with  her,  boy.  She's  right.  It's  the  only 
way.  Have  it  over  with  to-night.  If  you  don't 
you'll  break  her  heart,  as  well  as  your  own." 

They  followed  her  to  the  cage,  and  the  big 


294  THE  PLUNDERER 

miner  gave  the  hoisting  bell.  The  cage  floated 
upward,  and  into  the  pale  twilight.  Heedless  of 
anything  around,  they  walked  across  the  yard, 
and  turned  into  the  roadway  leading  down  the 
gulch. 

'  Will  you  come?  "  she  asked,  turning  toward 
Bill. 

"  No,"  he  said  slowly.  "  I'm  not  needed. 
Besides,  I  couldn't  stand  another  blow  to-day!  " 

It  was  the  only  reference  he  ever  made  to  it, 
but  it  went  through  Dick  with  more  pain  than  he 
had  administered.  Almost  sullenly  he  followed 
her  down  the  road,  wordless,  bewildered,  and 
despairing.  Unable  to  spare  her,  unable  to  shield 
her,  unable  to  comfort  her,  and  unable  to  be  other 
than  true  to  his  benefactor,  he  plodded  after  her 
into  the  deeper  shadows  of  the  lower  gulch,  across 
the  log  bridge  spanning  the  brawling  mountain 
stream,  and  up  into  the  Rattler  camp.  Her  steps 
never  faltered  as  she  advanced  straight  to  the 
office  door,  and  stepped  inside. 

The  bookkeepers  were  gone,  and  the  inner  door 
ajar.  She  threw  it  open,  walked  in,  and  closed  it 
after  Dick,  who  sustained  a  deadly  anger  against 
the  man  who  sat  at  his  desk,  and  as  they  entered 
looked  up  with  a  sharp  stare  of  surprise. 

Something  in  the  attitude  of  the  two  appeared 


THE  BULLY  MEETS  HIS  MASTER    295 

to  render  him  more  alert,  more  hard,  more  uncom- 
primising,  and  he  frowned,  as  Dick  had  seen  him 
frown  before  when  angry  men  made  way  for  him 
and  his  dominant  mastery.  His  daughter  had 
stopped  in  front  of  the  closed  door,  and  eyed  him 
with  eyes  no  less  determined  than  his  own. 

"  Your  men  are  working  under  the  Croix 
d'Or,"  she  said  coldly,  without  wasting  words  in 
preliminary. 

His  face  hardened  instantly,  and  his  eyes 
flamed,  dull  and  defiant.  The  lines  of  his  heavy 
jaw  appeared  to  deepen,  his  shoulders  lifted  a 
trifle,  as  if  the  muscles  of  him  had  suddenly  tensed 
for  combat,  and  his  lips  had  a  trace  of  the 
imperious  sneer. 

"  Oh,  you're  certain  of  that,  are  you,  my  girl?  " 

"  I  am,"  she  retorted.  "  I  was  in  their  lower 
level  when  the  Rattler's  shots  were  fired.  I  heard 
them." 

For  an  instant  he  seemed  about  to  leap  from 
his  chair,  and  then,  recovering  himself,  said  with 
sarcastic  emphasis,  and  a  deadly  calmness:  "  And 
pray  what  were  you  doing  there?  Was  the  young 
mine  owner,  Townsend,  there  with  you?  Was 
he  so  kind — ?  " 

"  Is  there  any  need  for  an  exchange  of 
insults?"  Dick  demanded,  taking  a  step  toward 


296  THE  PLUNDERER 

him,  and  prevented  from  going  farther  only  by 
recollection  of  his  previous  loss  of  temper. 

For  an  instant  the  mine  owner  defiantly  met  his 
look,  and  then  half-rose  from  his  chair,  and 
stared  more  coldly  across  the  litter  of  papers, 
plans,  and  impedimenta  on  his  desk. 

"  Then  why  are  you  here  together?  "  he 
demanded.  "  Weren't  you  man  enough  to  come 
yourself,  instead  of  taking  my  daughter  under- 
ground? Did  you  want  to  compel  her  to  be  the 
chief  witness  in  your  claim?  What  right  had  you 
to—?" 

"  Father!  "  admonished  Joan's  voice. 

It  served  a  double  purpose,  for  had  she  not 
interrupted  Dick  might  have  answered  with  a 
heat  that  he  would  have  regretted,  and  Bully 
Presby  dropped  back  into  his  chair,  and  drummed 
with  his  fingers  on  the  desk. 

"  You  took  the  ore.  You  must  pay.  You 
must !  "  went  on  the  dull  voice  of  his  daughter. 

"  But  how  should  I  know  how  much  it  amounts 
to,  even  if  I  do  find  out  that  some  of  my  men 
drove  into  the  Cross  pay?"  he  answered,  fixing 
her  with  his  flaming  eyes. 

"  But  you  must  know,"  she  insisted  dully.  "  I 
know  you  know.  I  know  you  knew  where  the  ore 
was  coming  from.  It  must  be  paid  back." 


THE  BULLY  MEETS  HIS  MASTER    297 

For  an  instant  they  eyed  each  other  defiantly, 
and  her  brave  attitude,  uncompromising,  seemed 
to  lower  the  flood-gates  of  his  anger.  His  cheeks 
flushed,  and  he  lowered  his  head  still  farther,  and 
stared  more  coldly  from  under  the  brim  of  his 
square-set  hat.  There  were  not  many  men  who 
would  have  faced  Bully  Presby  when  he  was  in 
that  mood;  but  before  him  stood  his  daughter, 
as  brave  and  uncompromising  as  he,  and  fortified 
by  something  that  he  had  allowed  to  run  dwarf 
in  his  soul — a  white  conscience,  burning  un- 
dimmed,  a  true  knowledge  of  what  was  right  and 
what  was  wrong.  Her  inheritance  of  brain  and 
blood  had  all  the  strength  of  his,  and  her  fearless- 
ness was  his  own.  She  did  not  waver,  or  bend. 

"  It  must  be  paid  back,"  she  reiterated,  a  little 
more  firmly. 

He  suddenly  jerked  himself  to  his  feet,  his  tre- 
mendous shoulders  thrust  forward  across  the  desk, 
and  raised  his  hand  with  a  commanding  finger. 

"  Joan,"  he  ordered  harshly,  "  you  get  out  of 
here.  Go  to  your  room!  Leave  this  affair  to 
this  man  and  me.  This  is  none  of  your  business. 
Go!" 

"  I  shall  not !  "  she  defied  him. 

"  I  think  it  is  best,"  Dick  said,  taking  a  step 


298  THE  PLUNDERER 

toward  her.  "  I  can  take  care  of  my  own  and 
Mr.  Sloan's  interests.  Please  go." 

The  word  "  Joan  "  almost  slipped  from  his 
lips.  She  faced  him,  and  backed  against  the 
door.  "Yours  and  Mr.  Sloan's  interests?  What 
of  mine?  What  of  my  conscience?  What  of 
my  own  father?  What  of  me?  " 

She  stepped  hastily  to  the  desk,  and  tapped  on 
it  with  her  firm  fingers,  and  faced  the  mine  master. 

"  I  said  you  must  pay!  "  she  declared,  her  voice 
rising  and  trembling  in  her  stress.  "  And  you 
must !  You  shall !  " 

He  was  in  a  fury  of  temper  by  now,  and 
brought  the  flat  of  his  heavy,  strong  hand  down 
on  its  top,  sending  the  ink-well  and  the  electric 
stand  lamp  dancing  unward  with  a  bound. 

"And  I  shall  do  as  I  please!"  he  roared. 
"  And  it  doesn't  please  me  to  pay  until  these 
men  " — and  between  the  words  he  brought  his 
hand  down  in  heavy  emphasis — "  until — these — 
men — of  the  Cross  mine  prove  it!  I'll  make 
them  get  experts  and  put  men  in  my  mine,  and  put 
you  yourself  on  the  stand  before  I'll  give  them  one 
damned  dollar!  I'll  fight  every  step  of  the  road 
before  I'll  lay  my  hand  down.  I'll  pay  nothing!  " 

She  stood  there  above  him,  fixing  him  with  her 
clear,  honest,  accusing  eyes,  and  never  faltered. 


THE  BULLY  MEETS  HIS  MASTER    299 

Neither  his  words  nor  his  rage  had  altered  her 
determination.  She  was  like  a  statue  of  justice, 
fixed  and  demanding  the  right.  Dick  had  rushed 
forward  to  try  and  dissuade  her  from  further 
speech,  and  stood  at  the  end  of  the  desk  in  the 
halo  of  light  from  the  lamp,  and  there  was  a  tense 
stillness  in  the  room  which  rendered  every 
outward  sound  more  distinct.  The  voice  of  a 
boy  driving  mules  to  their  stable  and  singing  as 
he  went,  the  clank  and  jingle  of  the  chain  tugs 
across  the  animals'  backs,  and  the  ceaseless  mono- 
tone of  the  mill,  all  came  through  the  open  win- 
dows, and  assailed  their  ears  in  that  pent  moment. 

"  Please  let  me  have  my  way,"  Joan  said,  turn- 
ing to  Dick,  and  in  her  voice  was  infinite  sorrow 
and  tragedy.  "  It  is  more  my  affair  than  yours 
now.  Father,  I  shall  not  permit  you  to  go  any 
farther.  It  is  useless.  I  know!  I  can't  do  it! 
I  can't  keep  the  money  you  gave  me.  It  isn't 
mine !  It  is  theirs !  You  say  you  will  not  pay. 
Well',  then,  I  shall,  to  the  last  dollar!  " 

"  But  I  shall  accept  nothing — not  a  cent — from 
you,  if  we  never  get  a  penny  from  the  Cross!  " 
declared  Dick,  half-turning,  as  if  to  end  the  inter- 
view. 

She  did  not  seem  to  hear  him.  She  was  still 
facing  the  hard,  twisting  face  of  Bully  Presby, 


300  THE  PLUNDERER 

who  had  suddenly  drawn  back,  as  if  confronted  by 
a  greater  spirit  than  his  own.  She  went  on  speak- 
ing to  him  as  if  Dick  was  not  in  the  room. 

"  You  stole  their  ore.  You  know  you  stole  it. 
Somehow,  it  all  hurts  so  that  I  cannot  put  it  in 
words;  for,  Dad,  I  have  loved  you  so  much — so 
much!  Oh,  Dad!  Dad!  Dad!" 

She  dropped  to  her  knees,  as  if  collapsed,  to  the 
outer  edge  of  the  desk,  and  her  head  fell  forward 
on  her  hands.  The  unutterable  wail  of  her  voice 
as  she  broke,  betrayed  the  desperate  grief  of  her 
heart,  the  destruction  of  an  idol.  It  was  as  if 
she  told  the  man  across  the  desk  that  he  had  been 
her  ideal,  and  that  his  actions  had  brought  this 
ruin  about  them;  as  if  all  the  sorrows  of  the 
world  had  cumulated  in  that  ruin  of  faith. 

Dick  looked  down  at  her,  and  his  nails  bit  into 
his  palms  as  he  fought  off  his  desire  to  reach  down 
and  lift  her  to  his  arms.  Bully  Presby's  chair 
went  clashing  back  against  the  wall,  where  he 
kicked  it  as  he  leaped  to  his  feet.  He  ran  around 
the  end  of  the  desk,  throwing  Dick  aside  as  he 
did  so  with  one  fierce  sweep  of  his  arm. 

"  Joan!  "  he  said  brokenly,  laying  his  hand  on 
her  head.  "  Joan !  My  little  Joan !  Get  up, 
girl,  and  come  here  to  your  Dad!  " 

She  did  not  move.     The  excess  of  her  grief 


THE  BULLY  MEETS  HIS  MASTER    301 

was  betrayed  by  her  bent  head  and  quivering 
shoulders.  The  light,  gleaming  above  her,  threw 
stray  shadows  into  the  depths  of  her  hair,  and 
softened  the  white,  strained  tips  of  her  fingers. 

Bully  Presby,  the  arrogant  and  forceful,  still 
resting  his  hand  on  her  head,  turned  toward  the 
twisted,  youthful  face  of  the  man  at  his  side, 
whose  fingers  were  now  clenched  together,  and 
held  at  arm's  length  in  front  of  him.  The  mine 
owner  seemed  suddenly  old  and  worn.  The  invin- 
cible fire  of  his  eyes  was  dulled  to  a  smoldering 
glow,  as  if,  reluctantly,  he  were  making  way  for 
age.  His  broad  shoulders  appeared  suddenly  to 
have  relinquished  force  and  might.  He  stooped 
above  her,  as  if  about  to  gather  her  into  his  arms, 
and  spoke  with  the  slow  voice  of  pathos. 

"She's  right,"  he  said.  "She's  right!  I 
should  pay;  and  I  will!  But  I  did  it  for  her.  She 
was  all  I  had.  I've  starved  for  her,  and  worked 
for  her,  and  stolen  for  her!  Ever  since  her 
mother  died  and  left  her  in  my  arms,  I've  been 
one  of  those  carried  away  by  ambition.  God  is 
damning  me  for  it,  in  this!  "  He  abruptly 
straightened  himself  to  his  old  form,  and  gestured 
toward  the  sobbing  girl  at  his  feet.  "  I  am  paying 
more  to  her  than  as  if  I'd  given  you  the  Rattler 
and  all — all — everything! — for  the  paltry  ore  I 


302  THE  PLUNDERER 

pulled  from  under  your  feet.  You  shall  have  your 
money.  Bully  Presby's  word  is  as  good  as  his 
gold.  You  know  that  I  I  don't  know  anything 
about  you.  I  don't  hate  you,  because  you  are 
fighting  for  your  own!  Somehow  I  feel  as  if  the 
bottom  had  been  knocked  out  of  everything,  all 
at  once!  I  wish  you'd  go  now.  I  want  to  have 
her  alone — I  want  to  talk  to  her — just  the  way 
I  used  to,  before — before —  " 

He  had  gone  to  the  limit.  His  strong  hands 
knotted  themselves  as  they  clenched,  then  un- 
clenched as  he  stepped  to  the  farther  side  of  the 
door  and  looked  at  Dick,  who  had  not  moved; 
but  now,  as  if  his  limitations  also  had  been 
reached,  the  younger  man  leaned  forward, 
stooped,  and  his  arms  caught  Joan  and  lifted  her 
bodily  to  his  breast.  In  slow  resignation,  and 
with  a  sigh  as  if  coming  to  shelter  at  last,  her  arms 
lifted  up,  her  hands  swept  round  his  shoulders, 
and  came  to  rest,  clasped  behind  his  head,  and 
held  him  tightly,  as  if  without  capitulation. 

There  was  a  gasp  of  astonishment,  and  the 
rough  pine  floor  creaked  as  Bully  Presby, 
dumbfounded,  comprehending,  conquered,  turned 
toward  the  door.  He  opened  it  blindly,  fumbling 
for  the  knob  with  twitching  hands — hands  unused 
to  faltering.  He  looked  back  and  hesitated,  as 


THE  BULLY  MEETS  HIS  MASTER    303 

if  all  his  directness  of  life,  all  his  fierce  decision 
of  character  had  become  undermined,  irresolute. 
He  opened  his  lips  as  if  to  protest,  to  demand, 
to  dominate,  to  plead  for  a  hearing;  but  no  sound 
came.  His  face,  unobserved  by  either  the  man  he 
had  robbed,  or  the  daughter  who  had  arraigned 
him,  betrayed  all  these  struggling,  conflicting 
emotions.  He  was  whipped!  He  was  beaten 
more  certainly  than  by  fists.  He  was  spiritually 
and  physically  powerless.  Dazed,  bewildered,  he 
stood  for  an  instant,  then  his  heavy  hands,  which 
for  the  first  time  in  his  life  had  been  held  out  in 
mute  appeal,  dropped  to  his  sides.  Habit  only 
asserted  when  he  slammed  the  door  behind  him 
as  he  walked  out  into  the  lonely  darkness  of  the 
accusing  night. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

THE    QUEST    SUPREME 

IT  was  twilight  again,  and  such  a  twilight  as 
only  the  Blue  Mountains  of  that  far  divide 
may  know.  It  barred  the  west  with  golden 
bands,  painted  lavish  purples  and  mauves  in  the 
hollows,  and  reddened  the  everlasting  snows  on 
the  summits.  It  deepened  the  greens  of  the  tam- 
aracks, and  made  iridescent  the  foams  of  the 
streams  tearing  downward  joyously  to  the  wide 
rivers  below.  It  painted  the  reddish-yellow  bars 
of  the  cross  on  the  peak  above  the  Croix  d'Or, 
and  rendered  its  outlines  a  glorified  symbol.  It 
lent  stateliness  to  the  finger  of  granite  beneath  the 
base  that  told  those  who  paused  that  beneath  the 
shaft  rested  one  who  had  a  loyal  heart.  It 
swooped  down  and  lingered  caressingly  on  the 
strong,  tender  face  of  the  girl  who  sat  on  the  wall 
surrounding  the  graves  of  Bells  Park  and  "  the 
best  woman  that  ever  lived." 


THE  QUEST  SUPREME  305 

"  For  some  reason,"  Joan  said,  speaking  to 
the  two  men  beside  her,  "  the  ugliness  of  some  of 
it  has  gone.  There  is  nothing  left  but  the  good 
and  the  beautiful.  Ah,  how  I  love  it — all  I  All !  " 

Dick's  arm  slipped  round  her,  and  drew  her 
close,  and  unresisting,  to  his  side. 

"  And  but  for  you  and  Bill,"  he  said  softly,  "  it 
might  never  have  ended  this  way." 

"Humph!"  drawled  the  deep  voice  of  the 
grizzled  old  miner.  '  Things  is  just  the  way  they 
have  to  be.  Nobody  can  change  'em.  The  Lord 
Almighty  fixes  'em,  and  I  expect  they  have  to  work 
out  about  as  He  wants  'em  to.  Somehow,  up 
here  in  the  tops  of  the  hills,  where  it's  close  to  the 
sky,  He  seems  a  heap  friendlier  and  nearer  than 
He  does  down  on  the  plains.  'Most  always  I 
feel  sorry  for  them  poor  fellers  that  live  down 
there.  They  seem  like  such  lonesome,  forgotten 
cusses." 

The  youthful  couple  by  him  did  not  answer. 
Their  happiness  was  too  new,  too  sacred,  to  admit 
of  speech. 

"  Now,"  Bill  went  on  argumentatively,  "  me 
and  Bully  Presby  are  friends.  He  likes  me  for 
standin'  up  for  my  own,  and  told  me  so  to-day. 
He  ain't  got  over  that  feller  Wolff  yet.  Says 
he  could  have  killed  him  when  he  found  out  Wolff 


3o6  THE  PLUNDERER 

had  poisoned  the  water  and  rolled  the  bowlder 
into  the  shaft  to  pen  us  in.  I  reckon  Wolff  tried  to 
blackmail  him  about  what  he  knew,  but  the  Bully 
didn't  approve  none  of  the  other  things.  That 
ain't  his  way  of  fightin'.  You  can  bet  on  that! 
He  drifted  over  and  got  the  green  lead  in  the 
Cross,  when  others  had  given  it  up  and  squan- 
dered money.  That  shows  he  was  a  real  miner. 
We  come  along,  and — well — all  he's  done  is  just 
to  help  us  find  it,  and  then  hand  over  the  proceeds, 
all  in  the  family,  as  I  take  it.  Nobody's  loser. 
The  families  gets  tangled  up,  and  instead  of  there 
bein'  two  there's  just  one.  The  Rattler  and  the 
Croix  d'Or  threatens  to  be  made  into  one  mine, 
and  the  two  plants  consolidated  to  make  it  more 
economical.  The  green  lead's  the  best  ledge  in 
the  Blue's,  and  'most  everybody  seems  to  be  gettin' 
along  pretty  well.  That  ain't  luck.  It's  God 
Almighty  arrangin'  things  for  the  best." 

He  sat  for  a  moment,  and  gave  a  long  sigh, 
as  if  there  were  something  else  in  his  mind  that 
had  not  been  uttered.  Dick  lifted  his  eyes,  and 
looked  at  him  affectionately,  and  then  whispered 
into  the  ear  close  by  his  shoulder:  "  Shall  I  tell 
him  now?  " 

"  Do !  "  Joan  said,  drawing  away  from  him, 
and  looking  expectantly  at  the  giant. 


THE  QUEST  SUPREME          307 

Dick  fumbled  in  his  pocket  with  a  look  of  sober 
enjoyment. 

"  Oh,  by  the  way,  Bill,"  he  said,  "  I  got  a  letter 
from  Sloan  a  few  days  ago.  Here  it  is.  Read  it." 

The  latter  took  it,  and  frowning  as  he  opened 
it,  held  it  up  to  catch  the  light. 

"  Great  Scott !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  Gives  the 
Croix  d'Or  to  you.  Says  he  wants  you  to  have 
it,  because  you're  the  one  that  made  good  on  it, 
and  he  don't  need  the  money!  That  the  deeds 
are  on  the  way  by  registered  mail,  and  all  he  asks 
is  a  small  bar  from  the  first  clean-up!  " 

He  folded  the  letter,  and  held  it  in  his  hands, 
looking  thoughtfully  off  into  the  distance  for  a 
time  while  he  absorbed  the  news. 

"Why,  Dick,"  he  said,  "you're  a  rich  man! 
Richer'n  I  ever  expected  you'd  be ;  but  I'm  a  selfish 
old  feller,  after  all !  It  seems  to  me  as  if  we  ain't 
never  goin'  to  be  the  same  again,  as  we  uster  be 
when  all  we  had  was  a  sack  of  flour  and  a  side 
of  bacon,  and  the  whole  North-west  to  prospect. 
It  seems  as  if  somethin'  mighty  dear  has  gone." 

Dick  got  up  and  stood  before  him,  with  his 
hands  in  his  pockets,  and  smiling  downward  into 
his  eyes. 

"  I've  thought  of  that,  too,  Bill,"  he  said,  "  and 
I  can't  afford  to  lose  you.  I'd  rather  lose  the 


308  THE  PLUNDERER 

Cross.  So  I'll  tell  you  something  that  I  told 
Joan,  long  ago — that  if  ever  the  mine  made  good, 
and  I  could  give  you  something  beside  a  debt,  you 
were  to  have  half  of  what  I  made.  A  few  days 
ago  it  would  have  been  a  quarter  interest  you 
owned.  Now  it  is  a  half.  We're  partners  still, 
Bill,  just  as  we  were  when  there  was  nothing  but 
a  sack  of  flour  and  a  side  of  bacon  to  divide." 

They  looked  at  him,  expecting  him  to  show 
some  sign  of  excitement,  but  he  did  not.  Instead, 
he  reached  over,  and  painstakingly  pulled  a 
weed  from  the  foot  of  the  wall,  and  threw  it 
away.  He  cleared  his  throat  once  or  twice, 
but  did  not  look  at  them,  and  then  got  to  his  feet 
and  started  as  if  to  go  down  to  the  camp.  Then, 
as  if  his  feelings  were  under  control  again,  came 
back,  and  took  one  of  Joan's  and  one  of  Dick's 
hands  into  his  own  toil-worn  palms,  and  said : 

"  Thanks,  Dick !  It's  more'n  I  deserve,  this 
knowin'  both  of  you,  and  havin'  you  give  me  a 
share  in  the  Cross!  And  I  accept  it;  but  con- 
ditionally." 

He  dropped  their  hands,  and  turned  to  look 
around,  as  if  seeing  a  very  broad  world. 

"What  is  the  condition?"  Joan  asked,  laying 
her  hand  on  his  arm,  and  looking  up  at  him. 
"  Can  we  change  it?  " 


THE  QUEST  SUPREME  309 

"No,"  he  said;  "  you  can't.  I've  had  a  hard 
hit  of  my  own  for  a  long  time  now.  I'm  a-goin' 
to  try  to  heal  it.  I'm  goin'  away  on  what  may  be 
a  short,  or  a  long,  long  trail."  His  voice  dropped 
until  it  was  scarcely  audible.  "  I'm  goin'  away  to 
keep  goin'  till  I  find  The  Lily.  And  when  I  find 
her,  I'll  come  back,  and  bring  her  with  me,  if 
she'll  come." 

He  turned  his  back  toward  them,  unbuttoned 
the  flap  of  his  flannel  shirt,  and  reached  inside. 
He  drew  out  a  sheet  of  paper  wrapped  in  an  old 
silk  handkerchief,  as  if  it  were  a  priceless  pos- 
session to  be  carefully  preserved,  and  held  it 
toward  them.  He  did  not  look  at  either  of  them 
as  he  spoke. 

"  I  got  that  a  long  time  ago,"  he  said;  "but 
somehow  I  could  never  say  anything  about  it  to 
any  one.  And  I  reckon  you're  the  only  two  in  the 
world  that'll  ever  see  it.  Read  it  and  give  it 
back  to  me  when — when  you  come  down  the 
mountain." 

He  turned  and  stalked  away  over  the  trail,  his 
feet  planting  themselves  firmly,  as  he  had  walked 
through  life  with  firmness. 

They  watched  him  go,  and  opened  the  letter, 
and  read,  in  a  high,  strong  handwriting: 


3io  THE  PLUNDERER 

DEAR  MR.  MATHEWS:  I  am  writing  you  of 
business,  for  one  thing,  and  because  I  feel  that  I 
must,  for  another.  I  have  paid  for  a  tombstone 
suitable  for  Bells  Park,  whom  I  esteemed  more 
than  I  have  most  men.  And  I  have  paid  for  its 
delivery  to  you,  knowing  that  you  will  have  it 
mounted  in  place.  So  you  must  pay  nothing  for 
it  in  any  form,  as  I  wish  to  stand  all  the  expense 
in  memory  of  an  old  and  tried  friend.  I  have  left 
Goldpan  for  good  and  all,  and  all  those  old  asso- 
ciations of  my  life.  I  am  starting  over  again, 
to  make  a  good  and  clean  fight,  in  clean  surround- 
ings. I  am  sick  to  death  of  all  that  has  made  up 
my  life.  I  am  bitter,  knowing  that  I  was  handi- 
capped from  the  start.  My  father  educated  me 
because  it  was  easier  to  have  me  in  a  boarding 
school  in  all  my  girlhood  than  to  have  me  with 
him.  I  never  knew  my  mother.  I  had  no  love 
bestowed  upon  me  in  my  girlhood.  When  I  came 
of  age  my  father,  who  was  an  adventurer  of  the 
discredited  gentleman  type,  gave  me  to  a  friend 
of  his.  I  learned  a  year  after  I  had  been  married 
that  I  had  been  sold  to  my  husband — God  save 
the  mark!  I  tried  to  be  patient  when  he 
dragged  me  from  camp  to  camp,  and  I  want  to 
say  that  whatever  else  I  have  been,  I  have  been 
good.  You  understand  me,  I  hope,  because  I  am 
defending  myself  to  you,  the  only  living  being  for 
whose  esteem  I  care.  I  have  had  two  happy 
moments  in  my  life — one  when  the  news  was 
brought  me  that  my  husband  had  shot  himself 
across  a  gambling  table,  and  the  second  when  you 
faced  me  that  night  after  Bells  Park  was  killed, 
alone  there  in  the  street  after  your  partner  had 


THE  QUEST  SUPREME  311 

gone  on,  and  said:  "  Lily,  it  hurts  you  as  it  does 
me.  You're  on  the  level,  little  pal.  I  want  to 
stop  long  enough  to  tell  you  I  believe  in  you." 
Then  you  went  on,  and  I  shall  not  see  you  again. 
I  am  writing  this  from  a  place  I  shall  leave 
before  it  starts  to  you.  You  could  not  find  me  if 
you  had  the  desire,  and  so  I  say  to  you  that  which 
perhaps  I  never  should  have  said,  if  we  had 
remained  in  sight  of  each  other  in  the  Blue  Moun- 
tains. You  are  the  only  man  I  have  ever  met 
who  made  me  heartsick  because  I  was  not  worthy 
of  him,  and  could  not  aspire  to  his  level.  You 
are  the  only  man  I  have  ever  loved  so  much  that 
it  was  an  ache.  You  are  the  only  man  who  told 
me  by  the  look  in  his  eyes,  that  he  thought  my 
life  unworthy,  and  accused  me  without  words 
every  time  we  met.  I  am  through  with  it,  and  if 
it  will  do  you  any  good  to  know  that  your 
reproaches  have  done  more  than  anything  else  to 
cause  me  to  begin  all  over  again,  and  live  a  differ- 
ent life,  I  want  you  to  have  that  satisfaction.  And 
this  shall  be  my  only  good-by. 

LILY  MEREDITH. 

For  a  long  time  Joan  stood  holding  the  letter 
in  her  hands,  and  then,  as  if  fathoming  its  cry 
of  loneliness,  clutched  it  tightly  to  her  breast. 

"  He  will  find  her!  "  she  said.  "  I  know  it! 
He  must!  It  wouldn't  be  kind  of  heaven  to  keep 
her  from  him.  And  he  loved  her  all  the  time!  " 

Far  across  the  peaks  of  the  Blue  Mountains 
the  laat  rays  of  the  sunset  went  out,  as  an 


312  THE  PLUNDERER 

extinguished  torch.  A  bird  near  by  cheeped 
sleepily,  and  the  new  night  was  coming  to  its  own. 
Throbbing,  rumbling,  and  grinding  in  a  melody 
softened  by  distance,  the  roar  of  the  Rattler's 
mills  became  audible,  as  it  brought  the  yellow 
gold,  glistening  and  beautiful,  from  its  sordid 
setting  of  earth.  In  the  camp  of  the  Croix  d'Or 
a  chorus  was  wafted  faintly  up  as  men  sitting  in 
the  dusk  sang:  "  Hearts  that  are  brave  and  true, 
my  lads,  hearts  that  are  brave  and  true !  " 

Silently,  arm  in  arm,  they  gave  a  last  lingering 
look  at  the  shaft,  the  peak  above,  and  turned  down 
the  trail  to  the  camp  which  seemed  all  aglow  with 
rosy  light. 


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Golden  Web,  The.     By  Anthony  Partridge. 
Green  Patch,  The.     By  Bettina  von  Hutten. 
Happy  Island  (sequel  to  "Uncle  William).     By  Jennette  Lee. 
Hearts  and  the    Highway.    By  Cyrus  Townsend  Brady. 
Held  for  Orders.     By  Frank  H.  Spearman. 
Hidden    Water.     By  Dane   Coolidge. 
Highway  of  Fate,  The.    By  Rosa  N.  Carey. 
Homesteaders,  The.     By  Kate  and  Virgil  D.  Boyles. 
Honor  of  the  Big  Snows,  The.     By  James  Oliver  Curwood. 
Hopalong   Cassidy.       By  Clarence  E.   Mulford. 
Household  of  Peter,  The.    By  Rosa  N.  Carey. 
House  of  Mystery,  The.     By  Will  Irwln. 
House  of  the  Lost  Court,  The.    By  C.  N.  Williamson. 
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House  on   Cherry  Street,  The.     By  Amelia  E.   Barr. 

How   Leslie  Loved.     By  Anne  Warner. 

Husbands  of   Edith,   The.     By  George  Barr  McCutcheon. 

Idols.     By  William  J.  Locke. 

Illustrious   Prince,   The.       By  E.    Phillips  Oppenheim. 

Imprudence  of  Prue,  The.     By  Sophie  Fisher. 

Inez.     (Illustrated  Edition.)     By  Augusta  J.  Evans. 

I  nf  el  ice.    By  Augusta  Evans  Wilson. 

Initials  Only.     By  Anna  Katharine  Green. 

In   Defiance  of  the  King.     By  Chauncey  C.  Hotchkiss. 

Indifference   of  Juliet,   The.     By  Grace  S.   Richmond. 

In  the  Service  of  the  Princess.     By  Henry  C.  Rowland. 

Iron   Woman,  The.     By  Margaret  Deland. 

Ishmael.     (Illustrated.)     By  Mrs.  Southworth. 

Island  of  Regeneration,  The.     By     Cyrus  Townsend  Brady. 

Jack  Spurlock,   Prodigal.     By  Horace  Lorimer. 

Jane  Cable.     By  George  Barr  McCutcheon  . 

Jeanne  of  ths  Marshes.     By  E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

Jude  the  Obsoure.     By  Thomas  Hardy. 

Keith  of  the  Border.     By  Randall  Parrish. 

Key  to  the  Unknown,  The.     By  Rosa  N.  Carey. 

Kingdom  of  Earth,  The.     By  Anthony  Partridge. 

King   Sprue*.     By  Holman   Day. 

Ladder  of  Swords,  A.     By  Gilbert  Parker. 

Lady  Betty  Across  the  Water.    By  C.  N.  and  A.  M.  Williamson. 

Lady  Morton,  Colonist.     By  Mrs.  Humphrey  Ward. 

Lady  of  Big  Shanty,  The.     By  Berkeley  F.  Smith. 

Langford  of  the  Three  Bars.     By  Kate  and  Virgil  D.  Boyles. 

Land   of   Long  Ago,  The.     By  Eliza  Calvert  Hall. 

Lane  That   Had   No  Turning,  The.     By  Gilbert  Parker. 

Last  Trail,   The.     By  Zane  Grey. 

Last  Voyag*  of  the  Donna  Isabel,  The.    By  Randall  Parrish. 

Leavenworth   Case,   The.     By  Anna  Katharine  Green. 

Lin   McLean.     By  Owen  Wister. 

Little  Brown  Jug  at  Klldare,  The.     By  Meredith  Nicholson. 

Loaded    Diet.     By  Ellery  H.   Clarke. 

Lord  Lovoland  Discovers  America.    By  C.  N.  and  A.  M.  Williamson. 

Lorimer  of  the  Northwest.     By  Harold  Bindloss. 

Lorraine,     By  Robert  W.   Chambers. 

Lost  Ambassador,  The.     By  E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

Love   Under  Ffr«.     By  Randall  Parrish. 

Loves  of  MlM  Anne,  The.     By  S.  R.  Crockett. 

Macarla.     (Illustrated  Edition.)     By  Augusta  J.  Evans 

Mademoiselle  Celeste.     By  Ade!e   Ferguson  Knight. 

Maid  at  Arms,  The.     By  Robert  W.  Chambers. 

Maid  of  Otd   New  York,  A.     By  Amelia  E.  Barr. 

Maid  of  th«  Whispering   Hills,  The.     By  Vingle  Roe. 

Maids  of  Paradise,  The.      By  Robert  W.   Chambers. 

Making  of  Bobby  Burnit,  The.     By  George  Randolph  Chester. 

Mam'  Linda.     By  Will  N.  Harben. 

Man   Outside,  The.      By  Wyndham  Martyn. 

Man  in  the  Brown   Derby.  The.     By  Wells  Hastings. 

Marriage  a  la  Mode.     Bv  Mrs.  Humphrey  Ward. 

Marriage  of  Theodora,  The.     By  Molly  Elliott  Seawell. 

Marriage  Under  the  Terror,  A.    By  Patricia  Wentworth. 

Master  Mummer,  The.     By  E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

Masters  of  the  Wheatlands.    By  Harold  Bindloss. 


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Max.     By  Katherine  Cecil  Thurston. 

Memoirs  of  Sherlock  Holmes.     By  A.  Conan  Doyle. 

Millionaire   Baby,   The.     By  Anna  Katharine  Green. 

Missioner,    The.     By   E.    Phillips   Oppenheim. 

Miss  Selina   Lue.     By  Maria  Thompson  Daviess. 

Mistress  of  Brae  Farm,  The.     By  Rosa  N.  Carey. 

Money   Moon,  The.     By  Jeffery  Farnol. 

Motor  Maid,  The.     By  C.  N.  and  A.  M.  Williamson. 

Much  Ado  About  Peter.     By  Jean  Webster. 

Mr.   Pratt.     By  Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 

My   Brother's   Keeper.     By  Charles  Tenny  Jackson. 

My  Friend  the  Chauffeur.     By  C.  N.  and  A.  M.  Williamson. 

My  Lady  Caprice  (author  of  the  "Broad  Higway").    Jeffery  Farnrt. 

My   Lady  of   Doubt.     By  Randall  Parrish. 

My  Lady  of  the   North.     By  Randall  Parrish. 

My   Lady  of  the  South.     By  Randall  Parrish. 

Mystery  Tales.     By  Edgar  Allen  Poe. 

Nancy  Stair.     By  Elinor  Macartney  Lane. 

Ne'er- Do- Well,  The.     By  Rex  Beach. 

No  Friend   Like  a  Sister.     By  Rosa  N.  Carey. 

Officer  666.     By  Barton  W.  Currie  and  Augustin  McHugh. 

One   Braver  Thing.     By  Richard  Dehan. 

Order   No.   11.     By   Caroline  Abbot   Stanley. 

Orphan,   The.     By   Clarence   E.    Mulford. 

Out  of  the  Primitive.     By  Robert  Ames  Bennett. 

Pam.     By  Bettina  von  Hutten. 

Pam   Decides.     By  Bettina  von  Hutten. 

Pardners.     By  Rex  Beach. 

Partners  of  the  Tide.     By  Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 

Passage  Perilous,   The.     By  Rosa  N.   Carey. 

Passers   By.    By  Anthony  Partridge. 

Paternoster   Ruby,  The.     By  Charles  Edmonds  Walk. 

Patience  of  John   Moreland,  The.     By  Mary  Dillon. 

Paul   Anthony,  Christian.     By  Hiram  W.  Hays. 

Phillip  Steele.     By  James  Oliver  Curwood. 

Phra  the  Phoenician.    By  Edwin  Lester  Arnold. 

Plunderer,  The.     By  Roy  Norton. 

Pole  Baker.     By  Will  N.  Harben. 

Politician,  The.    By  Edith  Huntington  Mason. 

Polly  of  the  Circus.     By  Margaret  Mayo. 

Pool  of  Flame,  The.     By  Louis  Joseh  Vance. 

Poppy..   By  Cynthia  Stockley. 

Power  and  the  Glory,  The.     By  Grace  McGowan  Cooke. 

Price  of  the  Prairie,  The.     By  Margaret  Hill  McCarter. 

Prince  of  Sinners,  A.    By  E.  Phillis  Oppenheim. 

Prince  or  Chauffeur.     By  Lawrence  Perry. 

Princess  Dehra,  The.     By  John  Reed  Scott. 

Princess  Passes,  The.     By  C.  N.  and  A.  M.  Williamson. 

Princess  Virginia,  The.      By  C.  N.  and  A.  M.  Williamson. 

Prisoners  of  Chance.     By  Randall  Parrish. 

Prodigal  Son,  The.    By  Hall  Caine. 

Purple  Parasol,  The.      By  George  Barr  McCutcheon. 


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Redemption  of  Kenneth  Gait,  The.    By  Will  N.  Harben. 

Red   House  on   Rowan  Street.    By  Roman  Doubleday. 

Red  Mouse,  The.    By  William  Hamilton  Osborne. 

Red  Pepper  Burns.    By  Grace  S.  Richmond. 

Refugees,  The.    By  A.  Conan  Doyle. 

Rejuvenation  of  Aunt  Mary,  The.    By  Anne  Warner. 

Road  to  Providence,  The.    By  Maria  Thompson  Daviess. 

Romance  of  a   Plain   Man,  The.    By  Ellen  Glasgow. 

Rose   in   the   Ring,  The.     By  George  Barr  McCutcheon. 

Rose  of  Old  Harpeth,  The.    By  Maria  Thompson  Daviesa. 

Rose  of  the  World.     By  Agnes  and  Egerton  Castle. 

Round  the  Corner  in  Gay  Street.    By  Grace  S.  Richmond. 

Routledge     Rides  Alone.    By  Will  Livingston  Comfort. 

Running    Fight,    The.    By  Wm.   Hamilton   Osborne. 

Seats  of  the   Mighty,  The.    By  Gilbert  Parker. 

Septimus.     By  William  J.  Locke. 

Set  In  Silver.    By  C.  N.  and  A.  M.  Williamson. 

Self -Raised.     (Illustrated.)     By  Mrs.  Southworth. 

Shepherd  of  the  Hills,  The.    By  Harold  Bell  Wright. 

Sheriff  of  Dyke  Hole,  The.    By  Ridgwell  Cullum. 

Sidney  Carteret,  Rancher.    By  Harold  Bindloss. 

Simon  the  Jester.     By  William  J.  Locke. 

Silver  Blade,  The.    By  Charles  E.  Walk. 

Silver  Horde,  The.    By  Rex  Beach. 

Sir   Nigel.     By  A.  Conan  Doyle. 

Sir   Richard   Calmady.    By  Lucas  Malet. 

Skyman,  The.    By  Henry  Ketchell  Webster. 

Slim  Princess,  The.    By  George  Ade. 

Speckled  Bird,  A.    By  Augusta  Evans  Wilson. 

Spirit  In   Prison,  A.     By  Robert  Hichens. 

Spirit  of  the  Border,  The.    By  Zane  Grey. 

Spirit  Trail,  The.     By  Kate  and  Virgil  D.  Boyles. 

Spoilers,  The.    By  Rex  Beach. 

Stanton  Wins.     By  Eleanor  M.  Ingram. 

St.  Elmo.    (Illustrated  Edition.)     By  Augusta  J.  Evans. 

Stolen  Singer,  The.     By  Martha  Bellinger. 

Stooping   Lady,  The.     By  Maurice  Hewlett. 

Story  of  the  Outlaw,  The.    By  Emerson  Hough. 

Strawberry  Acres.     By  Grace  S.  Richmond. 

Strawberry  Handkerchief,  The.     By  Amelia  E.  Barr. 

Sunnyside  of  the  Hill,  The.    By  Rosa  N.  Carey. 

Sunset  Trail,  The.    By  Alfred  Henry  Lewis. 


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Sword  of  the  Old  Frontier,  A.     By  Randall  Parrish. 

Tales  of  Sherlock  Holmes.     By  A.  Conan  Doyle. 

Tennessee  Shad,  The.     By  Owen  Johnson. 

Tess  of  the  D'Urbervilles.     By  Thomas  Hardy. 

Texican,  The.     By  Dane  Coolidge. 

That  Printer  of  Udell's.    By  Harold  Bell  Wright. 

Three  Brothers,  The.     By  Eden  Phillpotts. 

Throwback,  The.     By  Alfred  Henry  Lewis. 

Thurston  of  Orchard  Valley.    By  Harold  Bindloss. 

Title   Market,  The.     By  Emily  Post. 

Torn  Sails.    A  Tale  of  a  Welsh  Village.    By  Allen  Raine. 

Trail  of  the  Axe,  The.    By  Ridgwell  Cullum, 

Treasure  of  Heaven,  The.    By  Marie  Corelli. 

Two-Gun   Man,  The.     By  Charles  Alden  Seltzer. 

Two  Vanrevels,  The.     By  Booth  Tarkington. 

Uncle  William.     By  Jennette  Lee. 

Up  from  Slavery.     By  Booker  T.  Washington. 

Vanity  Box,  The.     By  C.  N.  Williamson. 

Vashti.     By  Augusta  Evans  Wilson. 

Varmint,  The.    By  Owen  Johnson. 

Vigilante  Girl,  A.     By  Jerome  Hart. 

Village  of  Vagabonds,  A.     By  F.  Berkeley  Smith. 

Visioning,  The.     By  Susan  Glaspell. 

Voice  of  the  People,  The.     By  Ellen  Glasgow. 

Wanted — A  Chaperon.     By  Paul  Leicester  Ford. 

Wanted:  A  Matchmaker.     By  Paul  Leicester  Ford. 

Watchers  of  the  Plains,  The.     Ridgwell  Cullum, 

Wayfarers,   The.     By  Mary   Stewart  Cutting. 

Way  of  a  Man,  The.    By  Emerson  Hough. 

Weavers,  The.    By  Gilbert  Parker. 

When  Wilderness  Was  King.     By  Randall  Parrish. 

Where  the  Trail  Divides.     By  Will  Lillibridge. 

White  Sister,  The.     By  Marion  Crawford. 

Window  at  the  White  Cat,  The.    By  Mary  Roberts  Rhinehart. 

Winning  of  Barbara  Worth,   The.    By  Harold  Bell  Wright. 

With  Juliet  in  England.     By  Grace  S.  Richmond. 

Woman  Haters,  The.    By  Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 

Woman  in  Question,  The.    By  John  Reed  Scott. 

Woman  In  the  Alcove,  The.    By  Anna  Katharine  Green. 

Yellow  Circle,  The.     By  Charles  E.  Walk. 

Yellow   Letter,  The.     By  William  Johnston. 

Younger  Set,  The.    By  Robert  W.  Chambers. 


DATE  DUE 


GAYLORD 


000562117    2 


3  1210012850986 


